But I was on the road-
Jan8-31,
13 states+Washington DC,
3250 miles driven,
65+degree temperature change,
1 sore back,
2 sore butt cheeks,
very little sleep,
piles of laughs and smiles.

Stop #1, 2 days in TwAtlanta w/Oscar and Hissy.
I loved how they'd decorated their space, really cool:

Xit like this:

And this:

And gobs of absinthe
stuff. More than I've
ever seen in one place.
Xit, more than I've
ever seen in 5 places.

I got to Grouchville
before Ostard.
Got to sit in the parking
lot and watch the 'hood
drift by.

Ostard and his fils finally
extricated themselves
from traffic and in we
go.

That night we went to
see the remake of The
Thing.

Good for a hoot.

I started the tradition
of smackin' the xit
outtah O Jr. for every
movie I mentioned he
hadn't seen.

Bed time was near 2:30,
OJ had to be to school @
7 in some type of bizarre
torture for his 'rents.

The boyz were stirring about
so I went off for the ride too.

Rainy predawn TwAtlanta
on almost no sleep=
*blech*.

Midday we went here, the
botanical garden:

Here's the Tard and his
pussy, right before Tard
got all hallucinatin' and
xit. He musta bumped
up against some tropical
stoner plant in the jungle
section.

"Look at those oysters!"
Tard cries. Hissy and I cry too.
On a 'cuz we're scared.

Another oyster bed. The oysters were
amazing. I'd never have guessed there
could be so much variation.

There were dozens of
varities. Dozens. All
lovely.

Knee Panties. Lotsa these fuckers too.

One of these things, and it was purty:

Is there anywhere to escape the
"work" of the one eyed, one
armed glass man Chihully?

And another:

Back to the domicile
for that thing that
screams-
WE ROCK HARD-
a nap.

And The Courier calls.

Here's some old booze we drank,
it smelled and tasted real good:

And some not so old:

The Courier's pix of
the Tesla coil are betterer.
We tried to light that
Lucid on fire w/the bolt
of electrons hitting the
spoon. It looked cool, but
it didn't ignite. I drank the
Lucid. Man was it more
burnterer.

This fucker's lotsa fun:

We took a breather on the roof deck.

As stated previously
the fucks over yonder
were damn drunk and
carryin' on like drunks.

OysterTard sez-
They're drinking absinthe.

Me-
So?

The mix was about 4:1
absinthe, and they were
chuggin'.

OysterTard starts saying,
sotto voce, then louder
"L'absinthe!"

Finally the dude w/the
Kubler comes over and
gets schooled.

And soft, sad Sara, who
was too pitiful to fuck w/.

So, having at some point
been deemed not fuck headed
enough to not bring him
down, we brought him down.

He tasted many HGs,
including one many of
us think is one of the
bestest ever, plus PF 1914,
got 2/3 bottle of CO, a
spoon and a book.

The courier told him to
never drink absinthe
again because he'll
never surpass that night.

I said sad, soft Sara
looked slow and weak
enough to only need
one back seat seat
belt to hold her down
for a Google Search
in Vlad.

The Courier was
repulsed.

Next day I left for
Kirkensteinville.

When I hit the mountain
the signs were ominous-
Fallen Rock
High Crosswinds
Fog Area.

Great, so the wind
is gonna push me
into a pile of rocks,
and when I go off
the mountain, I
won't be able to see
the flight.

All I got was fog.

When you get to see Kirkenstein,
you get this for day one. For hours.
He relishes the company, but the
spring's been winding tight for who
knows how long. Best to just sit
back and let it unspool.

Kirkenstein did a lot of this:

I think this is a samovar:

There was yummy
foodstuffs and then,
late in the night, beddy
byes.

Next day, we went for a
walk to get our shoes
muddy, I was attempting
to deal w/an unscrupulous
auto repair place back here
in Tally (Furrin Auto. Boy do
they suck.) through Peeps,
w/1 bar or less celly service.

Kirk suggested I go to the
balcony of his back building.

That got me 2 bars and the
job done.

He'd gotten the Playboy
w/the article about absinthe
from 71 and I read it, lying
in the sun and stretching my
aching back.

Nice.

We had b'fast at noon.

A beer and a sammy
@ 5.

Then WE ROCKED HARD!

I woke up about 7.

We drove about 3 days
to the town of Galax to
here:

Live bluegrass/radio
broadcast, complete
w/the announcer on
stage at the breaks,
standing at a mic,
reading ads for local
businesses.

Like a Garrison Keillor
you could look at
w/out throwing up.

The band from the balcony.
I loved the music.

Kirkenstein and I had said
it was going to be an early
night. At 5:15am we had one
of those "Oh, xit" exchanges
of looks.

I was up until 8:30. Got back
up @ 11:30 and was on the
road across the bottom of Ol'
Virginny by about noon, passing
rebel flag clad trailers, out of
control truck runoffs, and stunning
vistas.

Got to Xit City early evening.

Greeted by the Prol and missus,
who's paintin's I love. I'm gonna
get me a few at some point. Gotta.
Got a tour of Prol manor, Tried his
Old Timey Absinthe clone that is
pretty fuckin' good, and off we went
to din-dins. Leaves may have been
burned.

That's Boggy Bong Water
in the front.