briefly stopping into my office to write some checks, pay some bills, reimburse syrup for the phil tickets, grab some tapes, post this journal entry, and then off to fill the gastank, check the oil, deposit some checks, withdraw some more cash, finish the james booker tape i'm making for chip, and then drive over to s.f. to pick up nick in pacific heights where he's tutoring some kid in the fine points of the s.a.t., thence over the golden gate bridge through marin into sonoma, where will pick up tickets at the mystic theatre in old petaluma and then try to catch some blossoming (all the time avoiding sunburn) before settling in for an evening with zero.

so get me a plate of money
and get me a blanket and a chair
the limitations are limitless
they're floating through the air
'cause it's real
and it's true
the things i see in you
and there's nothing i wouldn't talk about
with the clearest dream that ever drifted by
- beck, doing his best syd barret tom waits bob dylan