We Are All Alone in This Together, Graham Lindsey
SPACEBAR Recordings, January 20, 2009
Track Listing: 1. Tomorrow Is Another Night, 2. If I Ever Make It Home, 3. Woe, 4. The Bird That Lived in a Burning Tree, 5. S**t on the Shovel, 6. We Are All Alone In This Together, 7. Mud, 8. The Good Life, 9. I Don't Know, Babe, 10. Old Roger, 11. Big Dark World Of Hate And Lies, 12. Down The Wrecking Line
The giant, fuzzy, pink bunny threw his white satin dress tie over his shoulder, raised his shotgun to the air and began firing. The celebration had officially begun, although it had been slowly rolling to a start for the previous two days and nights as friends, relatives and assorted artists drifted in from all over the country to the small white house in the Bridger Mountains outside Bozeman, Montana.
The wedding ceremony was conducted in a level clearing among some old Douglas Firs. Hanging in the trees facing the gathered crowd were effigies of a big fat seven foot snake, a friendly looking brown bear and a crazed monkey hanging by his tail with black x’s painted over his eyes and an 18 inch hard on. These were the silent acolytes that would bear witness and help the would-be Druid priest attend to his official duties.
With his long black shroud he appeared to be 8 feet tall as his robes flowing to the ground concealed the tree stump that he stood upon. Belying his newly ordained status, purchased on the internet for a mere $20, he flawlessly delivered his sermon and performed the wedding vows that included promises of the bride to make the groom’s sandwiches and provide unlimited head.
At the conclusion of the vows, the bride and groom jumped over a broom into the land of matrimony, and were saluted by the crowd using their slide whistles, kazoos, and other assorted noisemakers. Richard, the 6’ 6” bunny, began to fire off rounds. As a formal counterpoint he was now accompanied by an Air Force MP in full dress uniform who presented arms and joined in the gun salute.
Everyone headed out of the trees back to the house for the wedding feast of Mexican food. There were cars and trucks parked everywhere on the side of the mountain with no path for any of them to get to the road. Several tents were pitched around the property. Clearly everyone was expecting to stay the night.
In what was to be the last moment of controlled sanity of the evening, the cowgirl photographer jumped onto the hood of a truck and got everyone together for one group photo. Standing in the back row dressed all in black was a cool hipster that looked vaguely familiar.
He was a private investigator from Seattle that Uncle Bob had nicknamed for the night Seattle Sleuth. He and the bunny suggested to the father of the groom and several others that they return to the clearing to smoke a pipe before eating. It was strange but the only Indian at the wedding was the first to pass out and he hadn’t had anything to drink yet. But then the entire affair was indeed curious and quite truly bizarre.
When he regained consciousness, the Indian was laying on the dusty gravel road. Thankfully no one was around so he could brush himself off and return to the festivities. The altitude, the lack of sleep and the two thousand miles of non-stop driving must have conspired against him.
And then Old Roger himself sidled up to the microphone with a banjo and all hell broke loose as the very drunk groom began to improvise with the band as they played on into the nether hours of the night and once again the shotgun blasts began to echo back and forth across the mountain ridges.
“Why won’t time slow down?
Why won’t time slow down?”
-from “The Good Life”