The Big Fat Fucken Plan.
So I’m supposed to be doing this tour thing with 13 Scars and Reagan Youth out in California. Its sort of a promo bit for my latest published work, a split with author Michael Essington we put together this past summer. It includes my first published fiction piece, a short story called Dead Calm as well as a story and poem by Mike.
Anyway, I was all set to roll-my old friends from Wa. now playing in 13 Scars had invited me along, and me and Mike were set to do signings for the hard copies of Streetlamp (available via the chapbooks facebook still) Mike has out there, as well as a reading or two for all of us with writer Marius Gustaitus.
I had a ride set up, there were to be three of us wheeling across the country from Pa. to meet up for the start of tour in Pheonix on the first of November. My Pa. bestie and former SBCC drummer/longtime Connellsville, Pa. HC vet-Xtian was coming, along with the driver, a young metallist named B., also from Connelsville.
Well, at the last minute B. backed out and Xtian decided he didn’t want to do it without a car.
This left me on Oct. 19 with the option of hitching or findng some other way to make it out for tour.
I’m currently working on the other way. While, at the same time trying to set things up to have a place here upon my return. Because, as any regular reader here knows I’ve basically been put under a bridge and am homeless due to an ongoing ugly divorce.
However…my priority is doing this tour. Barely secondary to that is securing a place out here. And this whole shit is difficult beyond anything I’ve ever been faced with in my life…after the most difficult summer into fall I’ve ever had to face in my entire life.
I basically live on the streets now, after going through six or so temp jobs and no steady work since June. I published two ebooks last year which you can find via the My Publications tab at the top of this blog. I implore you to fucking buy them so I can stop living in homeless shelters and dumpster diving for meals-and so I can pull off this tour.
That’s all. Go buy my shit. Don’t bother hitting “like” or leaving a friendly comment just buy my fucking books. This way it might not be your car I jack or your home I break into out of abject desperation when I’ve got a hole in my stomach and a desire to get ahead by all means.