This arrived via my Sonicbids electronic press kit account:


Date: 10/30/2006 6:19:58 PM
Status: Not Selected
Response: Dear Entrant
Thank you for your submission to the American Songwriter November/December Lyric Contest, however we regret to inform you that your entry has not been chosen. This issue with The Doors on the covers hits newsstands today, so check out final results in its pages or go online to http://www.americansongwriter.com for contest winners.
Thanks again for your involvement in the only magazine covering �The Craft of Music� since 1984.
Regards,
AS Staff


I had my first rehearsal with the boys. Jon and Mike are going to play with me on three of my upcoming dates. There will probably be a fourth of some nature, but his identity is yet to be solidified. A guitar player? A piano player? A sea monster?

I wish I had a sea monster for a friend. He would be green and big and he would have kelp hanging off his sea monster fin things on his neck. Maybe he would play piano with his tentacles, or whatever. He would have a big round friendly face.

People would be like “Uh, you can’t really bring that, um, thing in here.” and I’d be like “Look man, he’s my keyboard player. It’s on the contract. See? Sea monster” and they’d go “Hm, yes. I see that now.”

There might also be punch and pie.

Once I got drunk with my friend John and we slept at Andy’s house because it was close. I woke up with Andy’s socked feet in my face because we were on a sectional couch. Andy got up and was wandering around.

“Hey man, you had a girl after you last night big time..” John told Andy.

“Really?” He asked. “Was she a sea hag?”

I may have posted about this in years past, because I found it in my notebook, and I can tell that it’s old because it’s written in the ink from a pen that I’ve lost a long time ago. God, I loved that pen.

Anyway, this is what it says:

Gay men get away with anything. I could even grab her boobs and stick them in my face if I had the stomach for it. –Dennis @ Brake Pad

I used to live in College Park GA, hometown of fellow entertainer Ludacris. It’s unknown whether he ever ate at the Brake Pad, which is a cafe there, but he may have for all I know.

The important thing to take away from this is that writing in the same notepad for years is amusing. You run across funny shit.

I write on slips of paper which I then carefully crumple in my pocket. They end up next to the sink in my bathroom, for some reason. That’s where I empty my jeans pockets I guess. Then sometimes I write on the computer, so I have a bunch of text files hanging around that say shit like “Silence is golden.”

THanks, past me. What the fuck does that mean?

Well, I’ve just had my second afterlife dream where I died and met god. He’s a groovy guy, in a tweed sportcoat with long dark hair and a beard.

I’m not sure how I died, but I went to heaven and it was a dark blue tiled shower room. I was there with a number of other people.

Down the hallway was a red-tiled shower room, and that was hell. The people in there were being chased around by a minotaur. It didn’t look very fun.

There was sort of a heavenly tour guide there. I asked him about the red-tiled room, and he said “Don’t step in there,” just as I was stepping in. He reached in and saved me, though. He said he could save me from it once, but that was it. So, I didn’t step into the hell part of the big bathroom again.

Then I was a ghost for a while. Some people could see me, some not. I ran around playing chase with a dog who could see me for a while, and tried to take pictures of myself with my digital camera. Some of these came out. Blurry, but something there.

Then I was back in the heavenly shower room with God again. He was having me play a word association game where I listed words. I remember saying to him “Cat, Dog, Fish, Simon, (something), Simon”. I said Simon twice because I said in my dream I was supposed to meet my friend Simon later. I have no plans to see Simon until I go to his show on Friday, so I misled God.

I asked him what was up with the word list, and if he was just amazed by humans. He said “Something like that!” and smiled.

He seemed satisfied with my word list. I touched his hair. It was just like my hair. I asked him if he minded that I was jacking about with my camera, trying to take pictures of my ghostly self when I was a ghost, and he said “Oh, no!” and laughed.

Then it was time to go back to the land of the living. I was repeating over and over again the words “I’m coming back!”, and I woke up.

So I screwed around with my computer a bit trying to get the mouse to work right, gave that up, and now I am typing to you.

I am going back to sleep.

…and now I just woke up from an extremely elaborate dream about pulling a heist. I dreamed a friend and I worked together to pull off a robbery, pretending to be workmen at some sort of professional facility and making off with their precious something or others. I couldn’t really tell what we were stealing.

Whatever it was was bolted to the floor in the middle of two rooms where people were working. We pretended to be repairmen, I guess.

As we were leaving, the cops started chasing us. I got us out of there with some truly expert driving, though. I parked the van at an apartment complex and we hopped out, leaving whatever it was in the van.

So, I guess we got away, but without the things we lifted.