It’s the dawn of the age of Virgos, and I’m in my August era. I don’t really have any idea what that last sentence means exactly, but I am in fact a Virgo, and those in the know about these things say that explains everything. So, there you go. Virgo. Enough said about it.
Last week was so jam packed with the joy of living that I hardly had a moment to stop and ask myself what day it was.
It all led to a big, beautiful Saturday spent with my kids and Jess at Toledo’s Pride Parade, the happiest and gayest place on Earth. It’s become an annual tradition for me and my kids, two of whom are non-binary they/thems. It’s one of my most favorite days of the year for many reasons, but mostly because it’s the one place my kids have found, where they can absolutely be themselves in a safe, loving, and accepting environment.
When you get two they/thems to smile in one photo...priceless
I’ve celebrated Pride in other cities, like Chicago and Columbus over the years, but Toledo is and always will be a special place to me, and their delayed Pride celebration that waits until August each year, is an annual event that my family starts planning for a year in advance, and next year I’ve promised my punk ass hooligans that they can choose my outfit for Pride. They’re already excited about it, and I’m hearing whispered rumors my outfit will involve a tutu. I already can’t wait.
Pride balloons marching in this year's Toledo Pride Parade
And after the unabashed free-spirited sun filled, fun filled Pride Day, my buddy A.S. Coomer stopped out on the Little Bryant Homestead where my camper, The Scrapes of Wrath, my loyal and trusty companion and literary agent Hunter S. Tomcat, and myself all currently reside. He dropped in for a two day visit. Coomer, known as A.S. on stage and as Drew to his friends and family, is a singer/songwriter, novelist, poet, artist and overall brilliant and interesting cat from the hollers of Kentucky, and he’s been one of my closest pals, artistic collaborators, and inspirations. The two of us have logged thousands of miles together chasing poetry, music and art all across the Midwest and back and forth to Florida at least twice over the years. So, his visit to the small farm was a wonderful celebration of friendship, camaraderie and art.
my writer's desk is forever a tornado train wreck, but hey, look, we found some cushions and the Scrapes of Wrath has comfortable reading seats now
Jereme, my great friend and the patriarch and co-namesake of the Homestead, has worked as a touring musician for many of the last 35 years or more, and has a home studio dubbed “The Loft” that’s full of recording equipment and musical noisemakers, so we had some late nights around the bonfire with guitars going back and forth, and stories, laughter, and the occasional poem squeaked in for good measure.
artist A.S. Coomer staring pensive into a late night fire as the last tailwinds of the sunset slip away
Jess and Jereme made an entire feast yesterday for all of us, and all the food was personally sourced from their small homestead. A roast from last year’s hog that they seasoned and smoked all day, and served with onions, carrots and potatoes from their large garden, and the feast was so opulent in its tasty offerings that we never did get around to cutting open the large watermelon they’d picked for dessert. A true treat to eat a home cooked meal made for and cared for from start to finish with so much labor and love.
Jereme and Drew both have birthdays this week, and this being the season of the Virgos, I have it on good authority that much Gentleman Jack was enjoyed by those that enjoy it, and damn near a whole bushel of the legendary and legal devil’s lettuce was consumed by those that enjoy that. I should know that the rumors are true. I was there, and my heart is still high and smiling right now, an hour or more after Coomer’s departure back to the hills of the bluegrass state.
Me, Jereme and Drew, just a couple of rowdy virgo artists, with a dozen albums, books, and combined performances in nearly all 50 states in the U.S. Photo by Jess.
They say all good things must end, but they say a lot of stupid shit, and I’ll let you in on a hard learned, life secret: They mostly talk out of their ass, my friends. If you’re fortunate, and in this one regard I am amongst the luckiest that have ever lived, you will meet other humans in your life that become part of your village, and no matter the time apart, or the seeming scarcity of weekends and adventures spent hanging out, you just feel at home and happy to be with them again, sharing some carefree moments out in the middle of nowhere,doing what doesn’t matter, because there’s so much fun in doing it.
And despite my introverted, loner artist ways that grow stronger as I age, I need human connection, and an artistic circle around me to stay plugged into probably more, the deeper life allows me to dive into calling myself a writer. If you’re an artist at any level, you probably need that connecting, too.
the old scrapes of wrath standing pretty in her current, modest conditions.
Alright now, this upcoming week is running over with work and catching up on everything that you naturally drop when friends and good times show up at your door. Got a lot of planning and scheming to do to figure and plan this November tour I want to do out to L.A. and back. And I’ve got a couple of fun projects upcoming that I can’t wait to tell you all about when the time is right. An idea becomes a project when the ink hits paper, and we all know how many projects wind up lost in ordinary folders in nondescript leftover shipping boxes. So, once the projects get to release time to the world, I’ll tell you all about them here first.
Man, let me tell you all about the books I’ve been loving over the last week. I love reading and books and writing more than just about anything, and I never miss a chance to talk about the books I’ve loved lately.
In honor of A.S. Coomer’s visit, I’ll tell you about one of his books that I haven’t read lately, but I did love a few years ago, and my girlfriend Jess is currently reading now. Birth of a Monster (Grindhouse Press, 2021) is a monstrous, brilliantly researched and written novel that measures 628 pages, and if you’re into horror and true crime stuff, then this is absolutely the book for you. It’s one of the sickest, most twisted novels I’ve ever read, and I’ve done some reading. Great, long read, and a recommendation for any horror fan, true crime fan, or casual bibliophile. I know the coolest, most talented humans.
a 600 page journey in the PoV life of a serial killer from birth to death.
Armageddon in Retrospect, by Kurt Vonnegut, a book my friend Chrissy got me some time ago, and I’m just now reading. Its a 2008 posthumous release that features an introduction from his son, the writer Mark, and 12 previously unreleased pieces of Kurt’s writing including a letter he wrote to his folks about getting captured in WWII, his last speech ever written, and some amazing short stories, mostly about prisoners of war. It’s not Vonnegut’s best stuff, but it’s good Vonnegut stuff, and good Vonnegut stuff is better than most other’s best stuff. 10/10 recommend risking the inevitable library late fees to track this one down.
Treasury of Favorite Love Poems, 2nd Edition by Random House. This was a one dollar thrift store find, and is mostly full of sugary sweet verse that’ll make ya gag from coerced confection, but I’ve been enjoying reading a poem or two every day from it, and there is an Anne Sexton piece in this book that’s pretty fucking smoking hot. If you ain’t never read Anne Sexton, then what are you waiting for? A sign? Sometimes you gotta pluck your own clues to the treasures of this universe, and sometimes they’re laid in all our laps, but we’re too busy dancing with the devil and surviving the details of life that we don’t pay attention to the immense joy and beauty that life sticks in our face everyday like a persistent and sadistic stripper grinds into the face of every big tipper in a small tip town. What im saying is that every American poet me, to Houdini to Jesus himself has told you that you should read Anne Sexton, and here you are still reading this silly fucking newsletter. How demure.
even a tough nuts rough and rowdy blue collar poet needs a love poem now and again
Dude, there’s a 1,001 ways to get high, and legal access to medical marijuana continues to be a life saving drug for my traumatized, anxious, off kilter, anti-social, bipolar ass. And I’m not even describing the rest of me. But whenever people look at me sideways in bewilderment and whisper “just what the hell is he smoking anyway” here’s two things I’ve tried of late.
For the vape lovers out there, don’t be dismayed. I ain’t found a form of cannabis consumption yet that I didn’t enjoy, and I too appreciate the discretion of the THC vape. I kept losing the batteries, so I’ve switched to using disposables, and Muha Meds makes my favorite.
Muha Meds is a Los Angeles based cannabis company that also operates in Michigan. It is still illegal to ship cannabis across state lines because of federal law, so cannabis companies must establish grow centers, or often partner with local growers in state to produce their products, so only big brands have the connections and capital to operate in multiple states, and thus far in my what ya smoking feature I’ve only talked about local Michigan only weed companies. But Muha Meds makes good stuff, including a 2 gram disposable that retails for around $20. I’ll always prefer my weed consumed in fire to flower form, but this is my go to for roadtrips and public places where you can’t just fire up a blunt or pre roll without fear of jail.
One note of caution, the cali gas OG strain I just got tastes like mustard to me, and although four or five hits gets me home like it’s supposed to, it’s not my favorite flavor. Go with the Super Sour Diesel a sativa, a great day time on the go vape.
my favorite vape maker, even if I don't love this strain
On the other hand, don’t plan to do anything constructive if you dare smoke the next product me and the artist hangout gang smoked yesterday. The Stoned Owl by Midnight Roots.
Midnight Roots is a genetics, seed, strain and growing company in Jackson, MI that partners with other farms and growers. The Stoned Owl, an OG indica strain testing at 25%thc, that has inspired cannabis cup winners, comes pre rolled in a 3 gram cannon that resembles a filtered joint as big around as a roll of dimes, and it put two out of three smokers down for an afternoon nap. Goddamn, it’ll dry yer eyes out. Great joint to pass at a small gathering, or to plant yourself drooling face down in your pillow for the night.
a 3 gram cannabis cannon that'll sit you down drooling for a while
Thats about all I got. Except I always try to end this bastardized rip off of other real artist’s newsletters with a positive affirmation to help me make it through the days that blur to form each week. I’ve been thinking of this fucked up modern parable my old recovery sponsor used to tell me all the fucking time when I first quit drinking. He didn’t really believe in god, and he knew I didn’t either, but he’d always say, “Dan you can sit in a dark closet all day praying for a hotdog, but if you don’t get up off your ass, open the closet door and go find yourself a hotdog, you ain’t getting one. God or nobody else is going to bring it to you.” I think about that all the time. No matter what else is going on, get up and do something. You’ll feel better for it. Promise.
Love,
Dan
❤️
Great to see that Drew made a visit! Also liked the hot dog saying.