Its been 2 days since I left you on an open road in Omaha...

Rock show. Ranch bowl. GTO.
sleepeater. sleepeater. sleepeater.
set: Matter Stille - The Antidote - 2 Minutes Hate - Somnambulance To - Corydoor - Well Enough Alone (Sofa of Stars)
> This was a fun show. Packed house. Thanks to our friends who drove so far to see us!
Thanks to Grasshopper for having us!
Thanks to pooh for the somersault crash-n-burn!
He is a ninja. Slaying the hearts of the wicked. Like the rest of sleepeater, he works in the factory, Matter Stille.
In the factory Matter Stille,
dreams float like smoke through stacks
thick with the soot of hope.
Light, the last
gift, is shaded by glass
black with the crust of faith.
Its a sad affair
this matter stille

Stalkers Are People Too...Cool People

you caught me off my guard, I
thought I was so clever
now it seems so funny...
while I was watching you,
you were watching me
watch you

when the dawn escapes
you know I will be waiting by your car
when the dusk erupts
you know I will be waiting for your call

> from 2 Minutes Hate off sleepeater's upcoming album
copyright '04 somnambulant records


I got a speeding ticket on the way to school this morning. I guess that's karma telling me to leave poor security guards alone. My total fines aquired over the last month or two: $250+


total fines paid:

$0.00

your best bet?
drop out.

Danny puts rent-a-cop in his place, hilarity ensues

The van has been on the skids for the week so Danny's little hatchback has been doing most of the work. He pulled that sweet ride over by the door we always load in at when we play the pavilion. We had secured a cart to load up with gear. We took this cart and held the door open while unloading. We had a pile of gear on the cart when a security guy walks up and tells us,
rent-a-cop: "You guys are going to have to load all that back in your car and go to the other door, this door can't be opened or it sets off an alarm."
me: "Uhh, nobody told us that and this is where we've loaded in before, can we at least take in what we've already loaded on this cart?" (note: cart is holding door open. Seriously no big deal if I just wheel it in, I mean, the door is ALREADY open.)
r.a.c.: "No. I am a security guard with a walkie-talkie and you're not so bow down to me and kiss my merchant patrol badge." (he may actually have just said "no" in a real dickish way)
We argue like this for a short time.
He is adamant about protecting the pavilion from deranged musicians.
I am angry. I say,
me: "ooookayyy. Power trip."
I proceed to drag the cart out of the doorway it is blocking, and all the way around the building to another door.
Danny is loading gear back into the car. He says to me,
Danny: "What a dick. This is bullshit."
rent-a-cop: (not in conversation) "What did you say?"
Danny: "I wasn't talking to you, dude." Danny then assumes a chicken/gorilla-type stance: He puffs up his chest, bows his legs, and puts his hands on his hips. In a fantastic mocking, redneck, retard voice he says,
>"Uhhh, wot did youwa say? Uhhh, looky at me. Me so tough, me's a secretary guard, uhh, looky at my badge. Uhhh."
The look on the guy's face was priceless. He was completely leveled by the retort which came flying out of nowhere. I couldn't help but bust up laughing. I turned and wheeled my cart out of there before the security guard assaulted me with his flashlight.

Are you going to answer that?

I took off at 6 am this morning on a "tour" with USF jazz band. It was real dark and rainy out. I arrived and walk up to see everyone huddled in the dock. There appears to be a problem with getting into the trunk of the bus. I am not concerned, and go into the bus to drop off my backpack. I am alone except for the driver. He's an older fella that I've never seen before. I make my way to the back of the bus when a phone begins ringing. I find a spot and store my stuff. (phone still ringing.) I walk back and see the driver messing with something, (phone still ringing.)
Driver: "I don't know how to work these things, can you answer this?" He hands me the object.
I examine said object.
me: "You can't answer a tv remote, dude."


This is completely true. He actually asked me to answer a remote. Really? A remote? Who's calling? Gidget? I nearly died. The more I thought about it though, I became sad. This poor man is probably walking back and forth to change the tv channels because his "remote" doesn't work. It just lights up and plays Beethoven.

How to cope with my ego

It can't be done.

I've given up myself.

>update<
Jack is unsure of the toilet. 3 months into his training and he's still confused. Porcelain is porcelain to Jack. He is not so bright, but I think he'll come around.

How to cope with multiple egos

Are you having trouble with that lead singer who thinks he is the world's axis? Do you have a drummer who is writing songs? Are your guitar players drowning each other out? Is your bass player too drunk to even play bass?
There are alternatives:

www.capturedbyrobots.com

just keep talking, everyone doesn't hate you yet

Rock show, school cafeteria style. No monitors. "University" of Vermillion=ghost town.
Still, a cool crowd showed up to listen. Unfortunately, I had to talk.
This is becoming a problem. Recently we have been working loops into our set to move between songs. That way I don't have to talk. We did not have anything for Saturday night. Witty stage banter is not my strong point. The show was a benefit concert for the West Memphis 3. I believe I told the crowd to support us instead by buying our merch so we could afford gas for the drive home. I said the wm3 weren't going anywhere anytime soon. This brought an extreme "ooohh" from the audience. I also said something about the crowd worshipping us, among other things.
Real classy, huh?
Well, all I can say is that I cannot be held responsible for things I say during a show. My mind is just not in its correct state. I will reason it like this:
A sleepeater show is a baring of the soul, and my particular soul seems to be dark and rather unpleasant. This may lead to some interesting music (for some), but the rantings should stay deep down where they belong: buried far beneath polite political correctness and appropriate behavior deemed necessary for people to "like" you. So I vow to never speak again, ever.

or until our next show.

LIBERATION DAY

Today: in a fit of blind rage, I threw my TV off of my third story balcony. It exploded on the ground and some shrapnel struck a passerby passing by. "That's my bad!" I say.
I went back inside and put on some music. I have no more TVs.
I haven't listened to Bill Evans lately. Or "Houses of the Holy."
Or Rubber Soul, Opiate, Blood Sugar.., Relationship of command, blah, blah

Carrying my keyboard, with help from a friend walking on the same side as me, brought back memories of carrying a casket. Small steps, heavy load. November should definitely be renamed Shitber.

Top Secret Information: Do Not Read

Since this is possibly a sensitive subject, all of the names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent.
Someone I know was walking down a particular hallway.
This is a particular hallway well-known to I and said someone.
Someone, let's call him "Larry," opened a door along this hallway.
Larry was going to say hi to the person(s) in the room.
This is not unusual.
I was ten feet or so behind Larry when...
Larry opens the door quickly, gasps, "OH SORRY"
Larry walks outside as I walk past the door, which opens...
to a half-dressed individual with smile. Confusion sets in.
I catch up to Larry outside.
"What was that about?"
"That guy was

Pierre rock fury

It's a long drive out to Pierre, but I think we would do it anytime. A few kids drove all the way from Vermillion. These are folks with an incredibly superb taste for good music. The ride out was uneventful but for a little stop in Chamberlain. Danny must have ate some bad fruit because he was in rare form. This was unfortunate for the poor sandwich artist who took his order. In one of the worst retard voices ever, he ordered a turkey sub. Unable to contain myself, I had to excuse myself from the establishment in order to regain my composure. I wasn't planning on going back in but my options for other eateries turned up empty.
Upon re-enter, I was not so surprised to see the antics were continuing. Danny had given up on the voice and had set his sights on breaking the toilet, in which he succeeded. I pretended that I didn't know him and ordered my sandwich. Once Danny started yelling and making faces at customers and employees, I left the building for good. Zach and Danny soon followed after which Danny made a fabulous entrance into the van from the roof through the window. Yay! Danny and Zach rock! (NOTE: If you were lucky enough to catch Spooncat over Halloween weekend, then you were priviliged to hear a master at work. Zach sat in on a Ween set and melted hearts with his golden voice. I nearly wept.)
Upon our arrival in Pierre, the famous fishy at the Ramkota winked at me and did a backflip.

I need a morphine drip and a cherry sucker, stat

Pneumonia is for wimps. Real men get "walking" pneumonia. Yes. That's the diagnosis. "Walking" pneumonia. Doctors. Finally, after 4 nurses, or students, or janitors, poked and prodded me with their fancy little devices, and 2 hours went by, the doctor comes in. (This is at 3 in the morning. Honestly, how busy can a Sioux Falls emergency room get?) The prestigious doctor walks in and asks, "So, what do you think is wrong with you?" ...Uh, what? Well, I am quite certain there, doc, that I have a serious case of the justgivemesomepainmedicationandgetthehelloutofmyfacealytis.
Oh, you've never heard of it? Maybe that's because you are a dumbass. Quit playing games with me and just give me the good stuff. I'm not paying you...wait...I'm not going to throw away your bills and avoid your future phone calls for me to tell you what's wrong. That's why they pay you the big bucks. Now, for the millionth time, check my blood pressure so you can trick me into thinking that you are actually doing something.
I'm changing my major. A couple extra years and I can make bank asking patients what's wrong. In the meantime, don't be alarmed if I tap your knees. I'm just practicing.

On the cheery side:
Sleepeater has secured steady work at 601 Arota. Every Wednesday, and either Fri. or Sat.(depending on if we have a ROCK gig) we will be jazzing our little hearts out. This is good news to us, as a full-length album will be within our reach, at least finacially.

On the apologetic side:
The editor wishes to apologize to any fans who may have been upset with the last post. It was not the intent of the editor to "dis" any of the patrons who were listening. Also, the opinions expressed by the editor do not necessarily express the opinions of sleepeater. In fact, sleepeater would prefer the editor just keep his mouth shut and sport that pretty face.