Answer 97 - In the trees.

They say it's a monastery, but I believe it's a cloister.  We're staying tonight in the 'Maria House' here in Krefeld... above my bed is a crucifix, above Dave's is a colorful painting of the Virgin Mary in a gilded frame.  This is not entirely unlike my kitchen, except the austerity.


Tonight's show is in a club called Kulturrampe - it's dark, in a long row of warehouses, will be full of smoke and it's a wild walk... from theatres to rock clubs.. across country lines..


Now, waiting for the opening act (Someday Jacob) to sound check, I'm listening to Jacques Brel, glancing at the bar menu and realizing there is no wine.

I've left the red wine at the hotel.

I rode in the backseat from Holland to Germany.. thinking of the lines that blur.  Things that look one way, and in a different light, are something else entirely.  It's a strange place, out on the edge of connection to the day to day.  When I'm inundated in the mundane, I edge toward the front door - dreaming of long and winding roads... but so far from the door, I can almost feel my hand on the doorknob.

So where's the line?  Where's the contentedness we're all looking for - in the place we're standing, or in the back seat in which we're riding?

Since I've been gone, my dog has bitten someone.  Someone else.  My dog that Dave loves to distraction just doesn't understand the difference between acceptable behavior and the long dirt nap.

And me, well, what I don't understand is everything... I took a nap this afternoon on a small bed, in a room with white walls and no ornamentation but the crucifix and Virgin Mary.  The pillow was full of feathers, but there was nothing soft about it.

So I'm looking for the line.. the place between the feathers and the clouds.. the feet on the ground and the head in the sky.  At the same time.