Hey.

My late-month adderall deficit vacation has seemed particularly prolonged, this go around, but it would appear - post-Extratone's first birthday on the 18th - that I required a bit more of a holiday than usual. The first ability to spend significant time with my best friend since last summer (she's been off work for a week) has been a very welcome departure from the balls-to-the-wall lifestyle I've settled for since really picking up the pace in Fall of last year.

It would seem that we are the only individuals in each other's respective lives that enjoy extended, sometimes-irreverent explorations of our proximate rural areas - towns like Fayette, Mexico, Centralia, Hallsville, Fulton, etc. This year, we've already visited all of these, and more, while blasting country music from our childhoods. We've been talking seriously about producing a podcast to encapsulate the stories/sentiments/moods we encounter, which is a very exciting prospect.

Yesterday, we stood in line for an hour at a dad rock-scored gathering at Cooper's Landing - the quaint Missouri outpost which I spoke of in Feebles - waiting for Thai food, and somehow only saw one individual that we (sorta) knew out of hundreds, which is fascinating in and of itself, really.
As the sun began to rise on Saturday morning over a spectacular distant thunderstorm, I showed her the farm where I grew up. The heaviest takeaway from the experience: way too many trees had been cut down for seemingly no reason, which is highly disconcerting. If you have any idea why, I'd very much like to know.

Later, we made our way to nearby Mexico and spent a good while admonishing at some of the estates in the old town. I'd attach photos, but I didn't take any, which is a positive thing, considering my recovery from my lifelong obsession with capturing moments and places.

I stumbled upon her copy of Moon Crossing Bridge a few days ago and... wow. It quickly occurred to me that I could never be any sort of poetic authority - "fuck" always ends up as the only response to good work I can muster, it would seem.

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We went on a bit of a bender last weekend, blowing $240 and two tires in one day. Thanks to one hell of a warranty, both of my old witch's shoes were replaced at no cost (save for labor,) but one of its wheels was declared Fucked and the other won't quite hold a seal against its new rubber. Also, its right front brake is completely "locked up," destroying itself, and there's apparently a two-finger-sized hole in its main coolant transfer hose, yet... it continues to move.

You should definitely listen to Alexa's rants in the last 50 minutes of this Futureland episode from back in February, and perhaps give me money? so that I can begin paying her to get animated on tape more often. I'm pretty sure it's some of the best stuff we've ever done.

I've now neglected two weeks of The Tone, which is excusable considering the anniversary, I suppose, but certainly not a permanent affliction.

It's occurred to me that my words' strongest audience (including This Very Email) is definitely myself, which is fine. I'm a pretty good reader. I really like looking at the website, and I enjoy going back and reading my own stuff, occasionally, so the most sensible thing to seek next would be a solution to the whole overwhelming and increasing financial deficit thing.

Perhaps I should start selling smack.I have decided that I would like to be more rambunctious in these letters - mostly because there's no reason not to, and I have been working on getting angry, as of late. Let's start with a "lightning round," or whatever the fuck it's called.

Mark Fuck definitely read my callout from a few weeks ago, and has begun exacting his revenge. Eryn and I watched Inherent Vice and it was... perturbing, almost, but its similarity (and yes - superiority) to the elements I worked to assemble in Children of the Corn 30 made me feel relieved for the first time that we abandoned the project... It would've actually been redundant, which is encouraging - I don't have to make it, now.

As of late, my days have been mostly spent shrieking about the future and dryhacking specks of mucus all over this goddamn town. I think I'm going to die soon, which is okay, considering my chosen career path and how utterly mortifying it is to read anything online.

As I write you, Hawthorn is writing what will be Extratone's first paid-for words: a 2,000 word, extremely uncivil obituary for... me. 
Word is, her basket of words includes fiend, deadbeat, heretic, zealot, vagrant, guttersnipe, devil, goon, disorderly, crook, yokel, villain, rogue, scoundrel, shyster, cheat, swindler, rascal, bastard, miscreant, lowlife, yellow-bellied, etc.

Until next time,
David.

Since today is Memorial Day, (and though he's not quite dead yet,) I'd also like to emphasize my appreciation for Tim Crossno, my favorite sailor of all time and brother for life.