For the last 6 months we've been out barreling across middle states. We have met some people who have become dear to us, and more than a few who have become family.
We have played in more cities, to bigger more enthusiastic crowds. We are grateful to have had the opportunity to play many festivals this year, and we are totally game to play a whole lot more next year.
Touring these middle states, connecting to cities through vast stretches of corn fields, warehouses, shipping yards, and the hubs; gas stations/truck stops/hotels/foodholes/porn super centers and pharmacies that provide the necessities, I am left with a distinct unease about what it means to be human in this world. Pink rhinestone camouflage beer cozies. Onesies with angry taloned eagles. Massive noisy tractor trailers. Soda cups the size of my toilet bowl. I feel like we and the planet are being ground by a machine we created and don't know how to turn off. And then I am looking out at huge blue skies with all the trees, and puffy cumulous clouds you could want. You get gorgeous lightning storms, and scary downpours. And I feel that I am the luckiest woman to have had the pleasure of living. I am surrounded by the most interesting, creative people. I get to listen to compelling music made by tenacious philosophers. I get to eat delicious food prepared and served to me by people who give a care about it. I get to heat or cool the van or room we are occupying to my preference. Life is beautiful. And hard. Sexy and terrible. And worth the effort.
The machine is warm if you're on the inside, in the belly, We've got to find warmth outside the machine and figure out how to turn it off. And turn it off.
So next spring, summer, and fall, we will be coming to your city, or hopefully a city near you.
midnight, on her birthday.