I’m here in some sub-slow spin of spiritual hangover and looking for one foot to place in front of another. There’s a fountain dripping Los Angeles water from the lion’s mouth and a window cracked and electric heat and I’m sipping coffee while responding to emails. It gets harder to come home from shows every time. If I’m lucky or cursed enough to keep this up for another twenty years or so I will travel with a broom dragging behind me, to cover the trails of how far I’ve fallen apart. This is supposed to be a journey toward understanding. I spent Sunday in bed.