Travels with Bambi (Spring Tour 2018)
I’m at a tattoo parlor with Marissa; we’re waiting to get friendship tattoos, as this is apparently now our post-tour ritual. Yesterday we drove for 14 hours from Chattanooga to Philadelphia. It was an exhausting ride, but we made it.
This tour was a true joy. At times it was emotionally exhausting, but all told it was extremely rewarding. This traveling roadshow of three bands all unique, all loud, and seemingly unconventional in it’s paring. I feel like we brought three different factions of the underground together and it really worked out for all. Thank you to HIRS and THOU for the laughs, and righteous rippers. I’m glad we all had each others backs and looked out for each others well being. Thanks to Screaming Females for bringing an old salt like myself out to see the world, and help them run a tight ship of rock. Getting to work with and for them is a true privilege, and I’m truly grateful for their love and friendship.
Tomorrow, I get on a plane, and go back to Chicago. For how long, I don’t know. I got a big change staring me in the face, and I’m staring at that leap. Wherever I land, do know that I’ll be back out there with these guys in October. I cannot wait.
Take care. Thanks for humoring this drivel.
Pop early because of discomfort; I heard someone working at the desk, and then the sound of dough maker whirring. I feel gross, possibly from too much cheese, beer, and tequila. I also feel incredibly grimey from sleeping in the basement. Soon we’re all milling about and packing our belongings. Then we roll out all the gear and search for breakfast. It’s Tuesday, so breakfast is scarce. We dip into a bakery, and its truly weird. The staff seems so scattered and incapable of providing us even the simplest order. Whatever, we’re all seasoned service workers so no complaints. Quick scarfing of some granola, coffee and bagel and we’re off to check out some fancy jeans company that Jarrett is curious about. Jarrett has been tailoring his own clothes lately, and is curious about this companies work. They’re really beautiful fabrics, colors and designs. I like my levis though and they aren’t three figures in cost. But man, what cool colors.
The drive is mellow, and I’d say of medium length. I keep reading certain excerpts of “Meet Me In The Bathroom”—namely all the James Murphy entries. I’m not totally hung up on his work, but I think his evolution from washed out indie rocker to pop superstar is really interesting; and I was looking for juicy info on the fallout of either The Rapture or his DFA partner. Decent read.
Last show of the tour. No tears. If anything, we’re all in good moods. Sluggo’s is a vegetarian restaurant run by former members of This Bike Is A Pipe Bomb. They all go back with Screamales so we are welcomed with open arms upon arrival. All the food and drink we could ask for. I get a delicious spinach and tempeh salad. After the meal we have hours to kill; Marissa takes a nap in the van, while Mike, Jarrett and I partake in an extended round of Air Disc round robin in the parking lot. There’s a lot of laughs, and failed attempts at tricks, save for Mike who is an ace at Air Disc horseshoes, and catching said disc on his head. What can I say, the guy has a good attitude.
Soon, the doors are open, and the brews are flowing. Lots of cute people are milling about. My merch is upstairs while the show is two flights below. I spend most of the night running between the two. Upstairs is jamming some funk—Meters, Funkadelic, Beastie Boys—a good vibe out on the patio. Possible Side Effects pull out some jangly country punk, perfect for the delicious brews being cracked open. Rivers Edge follow through with some fast pop punk. They’re incredibly charming and funny. Inspired, Screaming Females pull out all the stops with a fast and quick punk set, declaring the throng of fans as “Sluggalo’s.” WOOT-WOOT!!!
The load out is casual as we’re staying with Ash and Terry from Rivers Edge and they gotta close out the venue. As we’re loading out, I spy a car full of cuties hotboxing away. “Hey! Y’all got any extra herb?” The hand us a clutch of bud and some papers; I give them the last of of the baloney brothers mixes and Mike twirls that j bone up. Perfect end to a perfect tour, and I didn’t even twist a limb at the end.
We retire to Ash and Terry’s house…the front door is propped open, there’s some nice jazz playing on the radio and we’re bullshitting the night away. Jarrett and I crawl into a bed next to some portraits of D. Boon from the might Minutemen. D keeps watch over us as we have a gentle slumber.
Wake up ass early, and bail out…it’s chilly again, but we sally forth for the highway. Eight hour drive today so we got no time for breakfast. We eventually stop at a gas station for coffee and snacks. Now look, I’m not proud of my dietary selections, but sometimes man…sometimes you want a McDonald’s Breakfast. I order a sausage biscuit and a Hi-C, and hide behind a partition, like I’m trying to not be noticed at a porno shop, while I wolf down this breakfast. I see Jarrett cruise through to use the bathroom and hope against hope that he won’t see me. Hours later, he’ll confirm that he did in fact see me.
Somewhere in Alabama, I get a text “Hey! We all talked last night and decided we want you as our housemate! If you need a moment to think this over just let us know.” I’m freaking out. Is this really happening? It seems like it’s happening. What will I do? Will I find stability out west? Will I finally be happy with life when I’m not on the road? I’m so scared, but also excited. I quietly tell the band. “Hell yeah baby. You gonna do it?” “We’ll see! I got a lot of questions.” The drive is rainy but beautiful. The south gets a lot of crap—deservedly so—but there is some beautiful nature to be found, and like every city there are some true freaks.
Proud Larry’s is an institution of rock history. It’s kind of the only game in town for Oxford; the framed headshots and posters say it all: Ween, Jerry Garcia, Kurt Vile, Palace, Medeski Martin and Wood…this is jam band country and we are gonna do it right tonight. Early on it was decided that tonight—as a tribute to the righteous jam band Phish—tonight, the band will perform “All At Once” in its entirety. This is a reference to Phish’s decision to play “Dark Side Of The Moon” in it’s entirety two days after their annual Halloween show. See, one Halloween, they covered Velvet Underground’s “Loaded” in its entirety and their fans didn’t appreciate it. They didn’t like the record. Two nights later in Salt Lake City, ticket sales were low cuz everyone was banking on the halloween gig. As a raspberry to their fans, they learned all of “Dark Side Of the Moon” in a day and surprised everyone in the second set. Stuff of legend. Tonight, Screamales are going to do the same. Will anyone notice?
Over dinner, we watch some Womens Softball Championship playoff game on the television. I declare that I could be a softball coach.
“There’s nothing to it!”
Jarrett is shaking his head.
“What’s your problem?”
“You’d be a terrible coach.”
“Nah, I’d be the coolest coach in the world. I’d be the party coach. Smokin and drinkin in the pen, taking the gang to club after a win. It’d be great.”
“Your career would be mired in scandal.”
“I know, that’s what’d make me the coolest Womens Softball Coach ever!”
We stash our meals in to go boxes for after the show. I dip down to a bakery and grab some cookies for a late night sweet treat. Our green room is in the basement of the venue, where they stash their vegetables and make their dough. There’s a busted piano in the basement—Marissa and I make a video of us singing “Jackie Wilson Said” a la Archie and Edith Bunker from “All In The Family” You can find it on her instagram. There’s some heartache in it on my end, cuz it’s all winding down. Two shows left to go but trying to keep it positive. It’s been a long but rewarding run.
Level kick things off; they got a cool sound—kind of like the Interpol demos, but with a real howler of a singer. Conversely, Nadir Bliss sound like Interpol after their first album… maybe my brain is warped because JD kept went through a wild cycle on the drive: Napalm Death to Godflesh to Jesu to Yeah Yeah Yeahs to Interpol.That probably warped my opinion because I’ve been singing Interpol songs all day. Anyway, I am convinced that the singer of the band is probably the worst boyfriend in the world. I’m clearly projecting, but his attitude is bratty enough that I can’t help but think that there’s at least two ex’s in the audience frowning at his ass. Screaming Females come through with their promise of a top-to-bottom run through all of “All At Once.” It’s great. I’m amused beyond belief and it makes my time at merch table really easy. Often, someone will come up and say something like “What was the fourth song they played? I want to buy whatever album that song is on” and I’m stumped. Tonight though, I can just point to the new record and say “Like what ya heard? Here it is!” After the set we’re informed we can crash in the green room downstairs and load out in the morning. Great! Mike comes back from the green room, “Man! Someone ate my pizza, and smoked a bunch of weed without leaving us any!” I go downstairs because—as we were told it was a secure green room, my bag containing my laptop, passport, and extra cash is stashed down there. Thankfully they didn’t take any of that, but they did take my cookies? Sucks. Sucks to be violated like that, but it could’ve been much worse. After the show we’re having some brews to wind down, and I confirm with the band that I will do the Fall Tour.
“I love traveling with y’all. I was just surprised you’d ask me before we even finished this tour.”
“We got a good thing going” says Jarrett. “Think about cleveland; Mike was sick, but the three of us handled that extra work without hassle. If we were traveling with someone who didn’t know the routines as well as you do, we would’ve been stuck.”
Good point, and with that, we all bundle up on some very uncomfortable couches and konk out. Don’t steal anything in our sleep.
Pop up late, but no sweat. It’s only a three hour drive to Dallas, so everyone is taking their time. I check in with the band, but no response. Amy, her roommate Nelson and their friend Marg are finally waking up. I take the time to do a quick shave and a long shower. We dip out to the grocery store for coffee and a delicious vegan po’boy. Still no response from the band, and I’m starting to worry. Maybe they’re tired of me, and want fto inish the tour themselves? Between that irrational fear and my impending interview, I’m all shook up. Mike eventually responds and the band is en route. I hug Amy, and wait in the parking lot for the whip. Hop in and everyone is quiet. Still some fallout from the night before, but we eventually all shake it off. Touring can be draining sometimes, but if you talk it out, check in, always proceed with care first, then you can work it out. We pull into Dallas, and it’s cold again—so much for the good weather run. I’m anxious…there’s no parking, so we double park on the street and a fan starts screaming at us. Little intense. We quickly rush the gear in, and park the whip. HIRS soon show up, and I help them load in. It’s the last night of our tour with them, but we’re all too rushed to be sad. We’ll save that for later.
After load in, I take a few deep breaths, and adjourn to the green room for my facetime interview with my potential new roommates. I’m very transparent about my fears over a big leap, and we all ask each other good questions about our personalities, and goals for shared housing. It goes well, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to pass. Three years or so of wild goose chases and rejections has left me calloused, so I’m always expecting the worst. I step out of the green room, relieved that’s behind me. We dip over to a hokey mexican spot—nothing genuine, just some cornball gringo mexican spot. I get a satisfactory burrito. There’s a lady passed out from partying too hard at the table adjacent to us. Is anyone taking care of her?
Back at the venue. Two band bill tonight so it’s an early show, which is a relief because we have an eight hour drive tomorrow. Small crowd, but everyone is in good spirits. HIRS freak everyone out, and I’m right at the lip of stage; It’s been such a privilege to watch this band every night. They’re truly a unique and awesome presence in the underground and I am confident they will continue to grow. I’m kind of sad we’re parting ways tonight, but am excited for the rest of their wild adventures as they go west, then Alaska(!) then Hawaii(!) and back to the midwest. Whatever was weighing down Screaming Females last night is nowhere to be found tonight as the band deliver a solid set of heavy rock action, and the crowd is hanging on every note—from the solid “Leave It All Up To Me” to a searing version of “Doom ’84.” They encore with “Ripe” and the crowd is wrapt with admiration. We are flinging t-shirts and cracking jokes with people. Load out, and wait a minute…PABLO? “Man, I didn’t know you guys were starting so early! I just got here!” Aw buddy, it’s all good, and we laugh it off. Our dude Velorian rolls through with some gifts for all of us—he even gave me a gift card to Whataburger! What a sweet heart. We hug and kiss HIRS goodbye. It’s bittersweet, but we’re just happy to have had such a great tour with them.
As we did last year, we stay with our friend Ryan. He provides us with some tasty treats, wine and a viewing of the film Scarface. I keep identifying which character I’m trying to be in life, but which character I am in reality. Truly grim. Soon we are bundled in our sleeping bags and off to sleep. Goodnight Dallas, thank you for being so good to us.
Woke up too early, and immediately began packing up the sleep gear. Emily greeted us with some very cute pets. No bath (Siiiiigh) but I did get to check out the tub, which might be worse than simply walking it all off. The bath is gorgeous, jets, side faucet, and a giant mirror for scandalous selfies. A shame.
Oh well, out the door I go with my “Cool Cig,” in search for coffee. We are quick on the move as we have drive in front of us. During the drive, I find myself thumbing through instagram to pass the time. In the “Stories” feed, I see a post from a friend: “Looking for a roommate to live with myself and a friend in Oakland. Femme centered, no bros/no cops.” Fully expecting to get rejected, I reply. “I’ll bite—Far from bro, not fond of the cops, tired of living in Chicago and have been looking for an in out west for years. I know I’m not the ideal candidate, but what do I have to lose?” I get a response within an hour—“Hey! I’m actually really into this idea, can we find a time to do a facetime interview tomorrow? We have some interviews today but tomorrow we are free.” We find a time, and I start freaking out. When the band offered me the tour dates at the beginning of the year, I voiced my concerns about where I’d be after tour. I was fully expecting to lose my job at the bar for taking too much time off, and expressed that to both the band and my boss. Boss assured me, “No, the job will be here when you get back, but also don’t let that be the deciding factor in what you want to do with your life.” The move in would be for June, which is much earlier than I was planning, but here we are—you can’t control these things when opportunities present themselves. The rest of the drive, I’m distracted by possibilities of moving, and changing my life in a big way. Changing it in a way I haven’t since 2001. Big leaps, big fears.
We get to Austin and immediately head to Otherside Deli. Otherside is a food truck owned and operated by the bands longtime friend from NJ, Connor. Parked behind The Back Lot—a dive bar on the west end of Austin—Connor busts his hide making delicious corned beef and pastrami sandwiches (amongst other things—lots of veggie options, and some of the best waffle fries I’ve ever had.) Chillin in the patio, my mind can’t turn off this development. It’s freaking me out, and yet I’m also preparing myself for more rejection. Connor is a sweetheart, and feeds us dank veggie sandwiches, and one of the best Reuben’s I’ve had. Probably the best one, to be honest. You won’t lose if you go to the Otherside. Get there.
Roll up to Barracuda, and we do a quick load in. Lots of table space for merchandise. We finish the soundcheck quick, and are handed some delicious local seltzer—perfect for such a muggy afternoon. Marissa decides to take a nap, so Mike, Jarrett and I go for a walk. We have no idea where to go. Up and down 6th street, we are looking for…”something cool.” I can’t stop thinking about this possible life change but I try to keep to myself about it. We text our friend Edan who lives here, and he recommends The White Horse Saloon, a honky tonk bar down the street from Barracuda. We’re psyched. A block away, I tell the guys “Here’s how it’s gonna go…we’re gonna walk in there, there’s going to be a country western band playing. They’re gonna be playing ‘Mama Tried,’ and we’re gonna get three Pacificos.” I don’t know what kind of crystal ball I was on, but sure as shit, we walked in and a country western band was tearing up ‘Mama Tried.’ THREE PACIFICOS, please!
Walk back over to Barracuda, and we meet Hey Jellie which is members of Erase Eratta. They’re chill, and funny. I saw Erase Eratta summer of 2002 at Fireside Bowl with Grand Ulena and Lightning Bolt. It was an afternoon show, and it was wild. I absolutely loved that band so I’m stoked to see this new project tonight. Screamales fan Erin from Houston drove up for the show with some friends, and it was a joy to see her. My old friend from Chicago, Christine showed up and we catch up. Things are tough and we’re trading war stories of survival in such shakey conditions, but I’m truly confident she’ll be okay. Oh hey, what’s up Ted Leo. Ted’s in town for a comedy fest, and he rolls through. I also spy the wildly talented Annie Alonzi from Austin. They’re an incredible tattoo artist, and I compliment them on their work. I’d die to get some work done by them. I’d be remiss to leave out the homie Pablo, who also drove up from Houston for the gig. He came through with a big bag of snacks and treats, for us. Thanks Pablo. We chew the fat over some hard times; things are tough! But we all gotta push through.
Hey Jellie kicked things off with rhythm heavy, dance-y set complete with Black Sabbath and Grauzone covers. Very very cool. HIRS get the crowd lit with their brutal pummel. People are a-freaking out, and Jenna is tearing the stage apart—literally throwing the stage rugs towards the merch tables! Wild. Screaming Females—I don’t know man, I personally thought they ripped it, but I know they felt like they were struggling. I’m not sure what happened, and the crowd was going legit buck. Everyone’s their worst critic, and I try my best to cheer them on but I’m on the outside. I get the way when I think my band is hitting clams up there, so I get it. Just hard when—on the outside—I’m hearing rippers and jams, and seeing people bug the hell out but you know your people didn’t have a good time with it.
Load out, and part ways. The band is going to crash with their old friend Ben, but I’m crashing out with my old bud Amy. We rarely get to see one another, so we head back to her pad for beers, a late night meal, lots of gabbing and an early morning screening of that Elvis documentary on HBO. Crash out on a comfy couch before the sun can come up.
Wake up cold because at some point, Marissa took all the blankets. I distinctly remember pulling the blanket over me, and Marissa immediately yanking it off. Oh well, time to do some work. I hunker over my laptop and quietly sip coffee while everyone still sleeps. Its a short drive to New Orleans, so we are in no rush today. Plus, JD was up late getting the remix release ready so he should sleep as long as he wants to. After some work, I decide to get my personal belongings organized as the last three days has been an explosion of swimsuits, appropriate footware and loose t-shirts. I can’t find my jeans. I swear I had them after we went tubing two days ago. I tear the whip apart to no avail. Marissa thinks I’m stressed out, but honestly I’m not—I just like knowing where my crap is. I feel like whenever I’m not stressed out, and someone says “don’t be stressed” I have no idea just how to convey that I’m not stressed out. Should I just put on a hat that says “I’m fine?” I’m really not stressed, but trying to convince someone I’m not IS stressful. Nightwitch arrive and we all have some coffee before saying goodbye to them. It’s been a great three days with them. True rippers. Eliza gets the Baloney Bros sorted, and we head out to New Orleans. Last time we were in New Orleans, we were there for a total of five hours. Thankfully that’s not the case this time, and we’re all excited to hang out. On the drive out, we’re listening to crucial New Orleans cuts by Dr. John and The Meters. This was a show we were supposed to play with Thou, but they had to cut their portion of the tour to go to Europe. A shame, I really miss those people. We are staying at Bryan from Thou’s house, as his partner Emily will be home. We’ve received texts from Bryan demanding that we take bath’s in his “beautiful bathroom” but to also avoid the orange cat as he will attack us. I for one, am a true sucker for beautiful bathtubs and this bath has been on my mind for days. So much, that I skipped a potential shower this morning, and boy does my bod need it. Two days of suntan lotion, sweat, and saltwater hair.
The vibe feels truly serene… we’re driving through the south jamming “Walk on Guilded Splinters,” and there’s not a care in the world. The scenery is just beautiful. Marissa calls her dad; turns out he and his wife Judy are in New Orleans for the week and is coming to the show. I’ve never met Angelo, but I’ve heard many stories. I have no idea what he even looks like, as I’ve seen one video of him mowing his lawn. In the video, he’s wearing a skull cap and shades, so I’m really lost. I am excited to meet the guy that helped raise one of my best friends though. We eventually reach New Orleans, and post up near the French Quarter. Mike’s quiet and that worries me. He’s still not drinking, and walking around the quarter can be so tempting! We take our time walking around and hearing all the different bands playing. Jarrett and I want to embrace the novelty of stupid cocktails and walking around in public. We dip into some spot that seems mellow enough. Two Hurricanes to go “I got the next round,” affirms Jarrett. “Alright that’ll be thirty dollars.” “I got the next three rounds!” affirms Jarrett. We chuckle and are on our way. There are so many beautiful houses around the quarter. Each one with french windows and colors different than the next. We get back to the whip, and Marissa motors us over to Gasa Gasa. The parking situation is difficult, so we park illegally at a pizza shop next door. This mangles my merch set up time, and I spend most of soundcheck waiting by the car for a space to open up. It’s pretty lonely. I watch a guy berate someone over the phone while he waits for his pizza to be made. We heard tell that Bryan’s record shop, Sisters In Christ, was right next to Gasa Gasa, but it turns out they’ve moved about a twenty minute walk from here. No dice. It’s still lovely outside, but I want to get set up and I want to park this whip and the anticipation to do those things is stressing me out. Eventually a space opens up, the whip gets moved and I resume my set up. Everyone goes upstairs and eats the catering (homemade veggie tacos) but I’m still riding the solitary wave. Not sure why, just a strange mood…feeling alone. I help myself to a tecate and a smoke, and do a little bit of writing. Some bros saunter in and shoot dice at the table next to me.
“Hey who’s playing tonight?” one bro asks.
“Screaming Females” replies the bartender.
“Huh, what’s their deal?”
“I don’t know, wanna hear some of it?”
Bartender fiddles with his phone, and starts playing the Taylor Swift cover.
“I don’t like this!”
Can’t win em all. Eventually the bartender pivots to The Meters. Then Sleep. It is “Four Twenty” after all. The show isn’t for another three hours, so just waiting for something fun to happen. Still feel pretty alone, but that’s okay. In less than a week, the tour is over and that’s giving me mixed feelings about returning home. While this run feels longer than others, I’m by no means excited to get back to Chicago. I’m fully expecting to return to extremely cold weather and no inspiration. This warm weather is a tease to endless nights, long bike rides, shorts and cut ups, pools at sunset, and loud dance parties. Summer is the only time I feel alive. Sun has set, and another Sleep record plays on the patio. There’s a lot of cute queers and freaks rolling in. I go to the green room, and chill on the couch. “What ya looking at Sowley?” “Records.” “Dental Records?” Turns out there’s an aspiring dentist chilling with the band. I have always had a contentious relationship with dentists, and immediately excuse myself from the conversation. Woof kick the night off with some bratty punk-thrash growlers. Serious attitude from these rockers and it’s just perfect. Angelo and Judy show up…he’s shot out of a cannon this guy. He looks like a younger John Cage but with that New Jersey gruff. He immediately eyes me and slaps a j-bone in my hand. “Let’s fire this up, baby!” Our friend Beck runs into Angelo “Hey Angelo! I haven’t seen you in so long!” “Oh yeah, how do I look?” Mike caves and buys a cocktail “Vodka Redbull. I don’t even like Vodka, I just want the caffeine.” At some point, Angelo presses Mike on his drink of choice. “You gotta hang out with me, man. You know the body is a temple to the soul, Michael. You don’t wanna poison your body with that redbull shit!” Hanging at the merch table, a person comes up to inquire about some records. They’re wearing the sickest Nancy t-shirt I’ve ever seen. Like, I was full of admiration for the persons ingenuity in making said shirt, but I was also mad that I wasn’t wearing that shirt. I was visibly shook. We kindly offered up a trade—one signed LP for one t-shirt. I gave them my mailing address and I will gladly wait for my part of the trade. I got a glaciers patience for a Nancy tee. Gland followed up. Now, Gland played with Screamales last year, during our blur of a New Orleans show. Another extremely wild, very snotty punk band and it’s a joy to witness. They’re all so nice and cool, and it’s great to see them again. Between Gland and HIRS’ set, Angelo sits me down.
“You’ve been on this earth for 41 years, you’ve made it this far, and you’re dressed like that.” I’m wearing a t-shirt and a jacket and jeans.
“Hey man, listen—I’m hauling gear, I’m sweating, I’m—“
“Do you own a button down shirt?”
“Of course I do! But I’m doing this, I’m gonna keep it loose cuz it’s a rock show…I wear a button down when I bartend.”
“So you live a double life.”
We carry on for a bit over education (I’ve always wanted to work with children) and what not. “I always loved Marissa’s writing, I thought she’d be a great english teacher, but she does this instead.” It’s a loose and goofy conversation but I’m glad I got some face time with the man.
During HIRS set, I get a text from Jarrett. “Can someone bring my shirt and drum pad upstairs? Two people just aggressively pushed me, and I need to be alone.” Thinking there were two goons upstairs hurting my baby, I run up with the shirt, the pad and my knife. “Where are these assholes?” Jarrett explains they aren’t here, but somewhere in the bar. “I guess I was just standing in the way of something because on two separate occasions, two different people pushed me hard.” I hate that…stupid toxic bullshit. I’m glad JD is okay and lives to rock another day, and boy did he rock. Screamales pulled out all the stops with their set: Ripe-> Skull->Glass House…High->New Kid->Drop By Drop. You already know, it’s a wild one.
Merch run is busy, but Scott and I keep it moving fast with some efficient sales. At some point a fan walks up and says “I have a gift for The Baloney Brothers.” Oh lord, what’s this? It’s a beautiful homemade box with two j-bones, and some fancy old school matches. The J’s are labeled “Let The Ghost In,” and “Cool Cig.” Back at Bryan’s, we are informed that due to our early departure tomorrow, our bath plans are out for the evening and I doubt we’ll have time tomorrow. Such a shame, but what can you do? Mike and I settle on the porch and “Let The Ghost In.” I curl up on the couch and the ghost has fully taken over…my pulse is pounding, I can’t shake “the fear” and tears are streaming down my face. I am way too high. The ghost is here. Try to sleep Sowley, try to sleep.