Peacock Vendor

Displays of gurufoggery
Swiftly express the proverbial
TweedleDeeDumbery
Of Candy Sex.

Come into the marketplace
Profit from the feathershakes
Of nipple wisdom
Oh peacock vendor.

Contents Under Pressure:

I’m through apologizing for cobain.
I’m finished with reality tv.
I’m resolutely denying any association
But I’m sure old friends will continue to drop by.

I’m stealing glances for the last time.
I’m grinning through your big scene.
I’m laughing when there is no punch line.
But I’m sure I can update my resume.

I’m taking no responsibility for graffiti.
I’m ignoring the shared jolt of my head and bricks.
I’m threatening an artistic slowdown.
But I’m sure to find faces, ghoulish faces…

In the blood…

Splattered on your wall.

Dry Wall

psyclone retellings
huckleboned transactions
and occational contributions
become fanatical ruptures
naturally convincing
mortified and disappointing
details of miraculous
biographical conversations
going so far as to actually
suit the other's proportions
in outline format
against the dry wall

Monocle in Mordor

Monkey King

Waging Peace

Eye Khan Sea Four Myles

The Great Spinning Eye

Is Always Watching

You As You Do

What You Do

Eye, Eye

Naked Hegemony

Naked Hegemony
Rusts the Metal
Of the Door
To the Senate Chambers

Fumbling for Keys
To Frozen Locks
Becomes Desperate
In the Unblinking
Gaze of the Power Elite
Who Care Nothing
For Common Citizens

Impeach the Corrupt
Gate Keepers and
Self Appointed Clerics
Of Freedom and Democracy
Let the Sunshine
Clean the Halls
Of the Senate
Elect New Representatives
From the People
For the People

Remember Them?

Dateline Los Angeles, before the Show
Some of these backstreets are like a Third World
Inserted haphazardly into America
Sound check amplifiers still ringing in my ears
I sit on the wall in the alley
Breathing in the quiet hush of people hiding
When Monsters begin to fly past my head
Wild, wonderful, frightening monsters
Swimming through an ocean of air
Like deep-sea creatures exposed to the light
For the first time
I get a picture of one
Not the weirdest
Not the largest
Not even the scariest
Just the one I managed to catch
With a quick wink through the shutter

He circles around in a flash and gives me a look
Hola, he says with a slurping lisp
You�ve heard those stories, he says to me
He�s not asking, mind you; he�s telling
The ones about savages and their quaint beliefs
They think that your camera can steal their souls
But I know better, he says hovering and circling in the air
His tail flick, flick, flicking at a porch light on the wall
Where I come from, says he, we know the truth
Your photo gives up a little bit of your soul to me

I laughed and gave him a TEE Shirt
Which seemed to be the right reply
Maybe I�ll see you at the show tonight?
Maybe, he says putting the TEE Shirt on
Will it be wild?
I hear car tires crunching gravel behind me
I turn and see a patrol car, LA�s finest
Serving and Protecting
I turn back
Empty air
Just some scratches in the plaster
Near the porch light on the wall
Like a signature on a contract

Yes officer, I know it can be dangerous here
Some real monsters in this neighborhood

Down the Tubes

Dangerous territory
Common sense says keep out
But how can my children
Cross the mine field
If I am afraid to move in
And try to disarm the
Dangerous mechanisms?

I Don't Know You

Hello
I know your name
I know what you do for a living
I know your hobbies
I know about those magazines
I know where you hide them
I know about your riding mower
I know your kids are cute
I know you need a new car
I know that look in your eye
I know that shiver running down your spine
I know lots about you
Hell
What Do I Know?

Mind the Gap

Clutching my ticket to gotham
The clickty-clack rocking of
The 8am commuter train
And the hours lost to late night TV
Lulls me into a drowsy half sleep

Power poles flying past the window
Create the flickering effect of old film
Small farms, battered cars, the odd cow
Become mute actors in a documentary
Shown on a tired school projector

The screeeeeeech of train brakes
Signal the arriving station
The other commuters gather their bags
Securing laptops and mp3 players
For the jostling race for the exits

Too tired to compete, I hang back
On the platform a half naked boy begs for coins
His mother a sleeping bundle of denim
Inattentive against the station wall
His gaze intersects mine

Lost in his brown eyes
I wait too long
And almost miss my habitual stop
I stumble up and fall off the train
Just as it begins to move again

The jarring change of momentum
Pains my shins and blurs my vision
Multiple boys, six or seven
Swim before my blinking eyes
I don’t know which child to give my change to

I hand them each a dollar
And stumble toward the exit’s glare
The billboards mocks me
And my lack of lunch money
Mind the gap

Swimming Scanner

Swimming through the late night
Scanning dark interiors
Surrendering to internal
Simmering chit chat
Summoned by restless
Shuffling of memory
Shifting of meaning
Shadows cast by
Shimmering half light
Shhhhhhhhhhh
Slide into
Sleep

Welcome to the Fox News Shop

Fox News Shop:
Don't miss out on all these new and exciting products!
Jacko Showered with Boy.
Simon Cowell hates show tunes.
Teri Schiavo’s sister said Schiavo had “shown the world what perseverance and determination are all about.” The 41-year-old brain-damaged woman died Thursday after a long, bitter legal battle between her husband and parents.
Pope John Paul II: Continuing Coverage.
Americans, fixated on themselves and their sex lives as always, never did figure out that while they were wrestling with personal freedom issues like women priests, homosexuality and abortion, John Paul was embarked on a grander scheme to make the Catholic church the world’s Christian faith.
Neil Cavuto is asked, haven’t you had it with all death all the time?
Me? I have no problem dwelling on death. I think too few of us do. It does us all good to know life doesn’t last all too long.
It’s time the US gave the United Nations a dose of reality.
Neil Cavuto tells you why major Social Security changes are necessary.
O’Reilly explains that the secular movement wants to de-emphasize any kind of faith-based action because it stands in the face of egocentric policy.
Is Jane Fonda a Traitor?
Let her be a communist. She’s got plenty of money.
Free Speech on public college campuses? The solution is simple: privatize. That would be freedom of speech. That would constitute the exercise of First Amendment rights.

-------

I can’t make this crap up.
Everything above is a quote from Fox News.
That fountain of brazen punditry and lies masquerading as a news network.
With so much going on in the world, Fox and most of the media continue to focus on non stories, and when they do address critical issues they substitute opinion for facts.
I only hope America and the World are smarter and stronger than these jackasses.

Inarticulate Scream

Looking forward
Mist obscures the horizon
Sweat beads beneath the brim
Of my major league sports cap

Looking backward
In the rear view mirror
The insidious evil is clear
In the smell of corporate body wash

Looking inward
A nauseas vortex spins
Erupting as an inarticulate scream
Ignored by my gaming console

Looking upward
The talking heads deny everything
My experience is not confirmed by
24-hour news channels

Revenge From the Shadows

By My Father's Skull, This Time You Will Stay Dead!!!

No Throwing Down the Rock

No throwing down the rock
No tilting of the windmills
No touching the ruby slippers
No falling down rabbit holes
No asking why
No

The Secret Is There Is No Secret

I had evidence, dirt, proof
Things were rotten at the top
But as I confronted the Fat Cat
He just smiled
Lit another cigarette
And gazed out on the veranda

You think you know a secret? he asked
The secret is, there is no secret
Corruption, greed, nepotism, theft
It is no secret
It is all out in the open
I know about it
You know about it
The authorities know all about it
They actively participate in it
Everyone knows the secret
Everyone complains
But they all play the game
They watch the tv and movie screens
They gaze longingly at the billboards
They actively participate in their own distraction
The secret is that the losers
All privately are proud of the winners
Because they still hope that if they
Buy enough lottery tickets
They could still win the jackpot
And live in the big house
And drive the big car
And be the next guest on Oprah

Your evidence will not see the light of day
Because it will shine hard light on the odds
The very long odds
Your secret just makes lottery tickets worthless
Which they are, of course
And always will be
You are right, the game is rigged
But Shhhhh
It’s a Secret

Time off for good behavior

We get a week off from the Tour.
So I took some time to catch some big bass.
Here in the Pacific Northwest the spring is cold
and the bite is slow, slow, slow.
But when you find them, they tend to be BIG.
I hope to get some more fishing in before the
TEE Tour heads to Ireland for St Patricks Day.

¿Es Ebola?

¿Es Ebola?
Κανένας δεν διαβάζει αυτό οπωσδήποτε.
Il monk ha uno scoppio leggero.
Und er trampelt den zwei vorangegangenen Mann im Schwarzen.
Je souhaite que les petits poissons dans mon oreille fassent un meilleur travail de la traduction.
Eu espero que seus reasures que da fé como ele se cruza no mundo seguinte.
Ik kan geen van dit steek houden.

I can make no sense of this.
I wait that its reasures that of the faith as it crosses itself in the following world.
I wish that the small fish in my ear do a better work of the translation.
And it tramples to the two preceding man in the black one.
The monk it has a light explosion.
No one does not read this without fail.
Is it Ebola?

I Walk Alone

I walk alone

No one lends a helping hand
Or offers to share my load
On this lonely road

I walk alone
All by myself
Just me and this guitar
Made by the fender people

I walk alone
Just me and the funky bassist
And the badass drummer
They really emphasize
With their funky grooves
How alone I really am

I walk alone
Defiantly alone
Beneath the hot spot lights
Run by the cool stage crew

I walk alone
But thank god for the guy
At the mixing console
Who turns on the reverb and echo
And makes me sound so good

Oh, and props to the crew
At the big record company
Who keep all the appointments straight
And make sure that the band
Gets on the right planes

And thanks to the audience
And all the kids who buy the CDs
Rock on, dudes
We couldn’t do it with out you

I walk alone…

Bahamian Banker Buddy

Dateline, Mid-flight New York to Nassau
Monkey Boy was making a music video
He had the band dressed up like bankers
In three-piece suits and red power ties
He filmed us handing out bandaids
To the homeless and poor
Then we got a call from the Record Co
“Don’t miss your flight to the Bahamas”
Shit, we have one hour to make the airport
Our luggage, we are assured, is already enroute
So we hit the airport running
And then board the plane
In our fancy monkey suits

Banker Bob sitting next to me
With his laptop
Says he is on his way to check some IBC’s
(What ever the frak that might be)
For some clients keeping funds quietly “off shore”
Wink, wink, nod, nod
Oh, yes, I say, like I’m in on the joke
I’ll take Nassau over the Caymans
Any day of the week, wink, wink

Next thing I know he’s handing me a book
It’s a political thriller with an interesting twist
Like Grisham and Clancy ala Wolfowitz
The secret agent is a monster
You LOVE to hate her
But when the lefties complain
They get labeled “sexist racist pigs”
She’s powerful and cruel
And really well funded
While the patriots are at attention
She sneaks up from behind
And she robs and she rapes them

I’m not really a banker or a business cog
I tell the tax shelter guy with a wink and a nod
I’m a liberal artist in a rock n roll band
And I’m tired of fat cats
Living high on the hog

Oh, shuffle, shuffle
Well, blink, blink
You’ll have to excuse me
You’re not one of us I think
I’ve got some spreadsheets to edit
Before the plane lands
His fingers fly across numbers
Click, clickity, click
I turn toward the window
His book in my hand
Who comes up with this shit?
I don’t understand

You Have Been Warned

Humble thanks to Tony Pierce, the Busblogger,
For the recent link on his blog
Tony tells us that Thunder Echo tracks on his ipod
Are “THE WEIRDEST TRIPPEST MUSIC IN MY SHIT”
TEE is happiest when cool people
Are weirding and tripping to our shit
Mi caca es su caca

Preview our latest Music CD, My Old Future,
At the Thunder Echo Online Store
And don’t try to exceed the speed of light
Without a working flux capacitor

New York Inflated Mind

Dateline New York, the Tour Continues
Life and death not withstanding
The band found itself before a sold out crowd
Due to some corporate conspiracy
The crowd had been sold tickets to see
The Secret Machines
Instead, they saw us
Were they disappointed?
We didn’t stop to ask
We played hard
And ran faster
After the show
Panting to catch our breath
The news reached us
Doctor Hunter S. Thompson
Had punctuated his last submission
By blowing up his own head
Monkey Boy took this particularly hard
And proceeded to inflate his head
With helium and tequila
Then we floated him up and down
The streets of New York
Our own little Macy’s Cavalcade
In honor of Doctor Gonzo
Monkey Boy got high
And we stomped terra

“The music business is a cruel shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.”
-- Hunter S Thompson 1937--2005
He was a blogger before there were blogs.

Next Blog Button Bingo Winner # 2

The Velvet Marauder is the winner of Next Blog >> Button Bingo #2

With the help of heroes Wombat and Kestrel, The Velvet Marauder repelled Baron von Blitzkrieg's blimp raid on Evergreen City and earned the random respect of the entire Thunder Echo Ensemble. Monkey Boy even drew an picture of the evil Baron (above).

The Marauder's latest post, Things Superheroes Shouldn't Say, contained this gem:

“I want to lie down on the floor and make love to your shadow.”

We couldn't agree more.
Congrats VM and keep up the good work.

Goodbye Chicago

Dateline Chicago, Back on the road
Back in the Bus
Heading to New York
Three dismal nights in the windy city
Couldn’t give tickets away
Monkey Boy even put on a circus show
Juggling flaming chainsaws
From the top of the event eenter
But by the time the paramedics
Were done treating his burned tail
The crowds had dispersed
We played to a couple dozen
Roadies, friends, and an
Independent music reviewer
Tough times on the TEE Tour
Hopefully the big apple will be
More kind

Distraction

Please
Appease
The beast inside of me

Give it corn chips
And CGI
Sex
Sketch comedy
Let it fly

Jelly Babies
Pollsters
FBI
Time machines
Cell phones
And apple pie

Please
Appease
The beast inside of me

Roman cars
Cheap cigars
One way trips
Let’s go too far

Give it all
And you will see
Nothing can appease
The beast in me

Give me fear
And dirty love
Killer bees
Wingless doves

Hummers
Drummers
Old reruns
Convince me that
We’ll have some fun

Robots
Science
Laser guns
Boredom
Finally on the run

Please
Appease
The beast inside of me

Slow down
Stop
I think I’m done
The selfish beast
Is on the run

Maybe now
I can help you

Is there any thing
You’d like to do?

Strange Sound

What is that strange sound?
I can’t quite make it out
Or you’re not saying it right
That sound so seldom heard
I hardly recognize
Strange

Why is it so strange?
Stranger than fiction
Stranger than strange
But not that strange
That strange sound

Is

Truth

Sssttrraaaannggge…

The Self Created Age Has Begun

Glad to meet you
What is it that you do?
Well, I’m a sculptor
But I pay the bills
By means of creative accounting

Wake up sleepy heads
There is Meaning out there
Hiding in the world
Let us hunt it down
And devourer it raw

We don’t have time for two lives
Our jobs are our lives
Instead of letting the Corporations
Devour us
We are going to devour the Corporations

We will sing
We will write
We will get our thoughts together
We will claim our life
Meaning comes in many sizes
And can be captured in many ways

We may quit our jobs
We might stay put
But everything will change
When we create
Our own Meaning

Monkey Tower Blimp

You can't buy a Monkey Boy Water Tower
At the Thunder Echo Online Store
You can’t get your own
TEE Blimp
At the Thunder Echo Online Store
But you can
Buy My Old Future, the CD
You can get a Time Machine
You can do the Monkey Dance
In a new TEE Shirt

A Blatant Plug

Phoenix Rising

Phoenix rising from the ashes of
Western Democracy
She is lovely to behold
Full of hope and light
Despite the scowls of the Gargoyles
Waiting for the cover of darkness
To rip the dancers to shreds
Left and Right
Swing round the same Center

Hey kids!
No fires allowed on the beach

Next Blog Bingo Winner 1

I love the "Next Blog >>" Button.
Every day I click the Next Blog >> Button and check out the Blogs of random people. Some of them are great. Some are lame. Some are artistic. Some are embarassing. Many are in languages I don't understand. But if they have pictures, I like them. And if they are amusing, I like them.

Presenting the First Thunder Echo, Next Blog Button Bingo Winner!!!
Shoart's Blog, Henrism.
Shoart is from Taiwan and I can't read a thing he posts. But he includes pictures, including this above advertisement. "There is nothing subtle about it", and that is because it is a "product of the USA".
Stay tuned for more Next Blog Bingo Winners, and keep on pressing that Next Blog Button.

State of the Ensemble

We would rather be delicious than true
We would rather make pictures than live in a perfect world
We would rather be canadian and hot, than american and right
We would rather be reliable but not predictable

Thanks to everyone on the Tour
Thanks to everyone who has bought the CD
The Thunder still Echos
The Avengers still Ensemble
Next Stop Chicago.

Argentinean Colored Glasses

Dateline Buenos Aires, between shows
Record Company Big Wig stirs his martini
Don’t let this stuff get you down, he says
Poverty, drugs, prostitution, orphans
They have always been with us
But those of us of class
The intelligentsia
The politically astute
We know how to navigate such issues
Without destroying our spirit
The bar lights sparkle off his
Wrap around sunglasses
And his white, white
Smiling teeth

I look out the picture window
I take a long drag of my brown beer
The plaza la defensa is bathed in sunlight
The freshly washed tiles only accent
The homeless men with their
Cardboard signs and paper cups
Napping while waiting for the evening
Shoppers who drop coins while
Stepping gingerly around their
Greasy pants and worn out shoes.

Hearing my sigh, Mr. Big Wig
Presents me with a pair of sunglasses
Try these on, senior, you’ll feel much better
They wrap fully around letting in no light
That is not pleasant and soothing to the eye
Flip that tiny switch near your right ear
See how the dirty hobos fade away
Now you can relax
And free your mind
To pursue your art
So that men like me can sell it
In the market place
To other beautiful people

I must admit
The glasses do clear up the view
But how will I avoid tripping
Over the invisible people
Sleeping on the paving stones?

Ah, my friend
You worry too much
Let me call you a taxi

Watching from the Back Row

It is summer in Rio
Warm and sultry
We are part of a huge music festival
The people have turned out in force
To see the Name Brand Bands
Not to see us
But we still have to play
The transition from American Winter
To Brazilian Summer makes me lazy

So I turn on the AI software
And free the Monkey Boy
They assemble the echoing thunder
I move to the back of the crowd
And watch my own show from the back row
The robot is going through the motions
He keeps the beat but there is no spontaneity
He stays in tune but can’t hit the emotional high notes
But as long as the beat is pounding
The crowd doesn’t seem to notice the difference
Robot gets the job done
And plays a solid set
I’ve programmed him well

Brad, from Boston, works his way through the crowd
He has identified me somehow from a distance
As a fellow American
But he doesn’t notice the resemblance between
Me and the robot
Brad takes off his wrap-around sunglasses
He offers me a sip from his beer
Budweiser
I decline

These dudes are the real cheese, says Brad
I met these dudes in Amsterdam
These dudes played a helleva show
My homeys at Big Europe Records are gonna pick them up
Big money
The real cheese, dude
Hey, if you give me a ride to this party across town
I can introduce you to these dudes
They’re the best Eurobeat band of the new century
Real cheese
Dude?
Dude?
Why you laughing, dude?

Holding Your Letter

Holding your letter
I notice the fine crinkle of fiber
That glossy bond that holds your ink
So that it can not let go of the words
You wrote them once
But I am trapped by an endless echo

Your message does not fit in a bottle
No pearly glass or blackened cork can contain
The rhythmic waves of liquid self pity
That run hissing across the thirsty sands

The suffering that came with the happiness
Did not make the happiness worthwhile
It just occurs to me
The happiness that came with the suffering
Did not make the suffering worthwhile

Crushing your letter
I bind it to a rock with rough twine
And fling it up and out above the waves

As it sinks into the vaults of the depths
It occurs to me

I am still holding your letter

Backstreet Monsters of LA

Dateline Los Angeles, before the Show
Some of these backstreets are like a Third World
Inserted haphazardly into America
Sound check amplifiers still ringing in my ears
I sit on the wall in the alley
Breathing in the quiet hush of people hiding
When Monsters begin to fly past my head
Wild, wonderful, frightening monsters
Swimming through an ocean of air
Like deep-sea creatures exposed to the light
For the first time
I get a picture of one
Not the weirdest
Not the largest
Not even the scariest
Just the one I managed to catch
With a quick wink through the shutter

He circles around in a flash and gives me a look
Hola, he says with a slurping lisp
You’ve heard those stories, he says to me
He’s not asking, mind you; he’s telling
The ones about savages and their quaint beliefs
They think that your camera can steal their souls
But I know better, he says hovering and circling in the air
His tail flick, flick, flicking at a porch light on the wall
Where I come from, says he, we know the truth
Your photo gives up a little bit of your soul to me

I laughed and gave him a TEE Shirt
Which seemed to be the right reply
Maybe I’ll see you at the show tonight?
Maybe, he says putting the TEE Shirt on
Will it be wild?
I hear car tires crunching gravel behind me
I turn and see a patrol car, LA’s finest
Serving and Protecting
I turn back
Empty air
Just some scratches in the plaster
Near the porch light on the wall
Like a signature on a contract

Yes officer, I know it can be dangerous here
Some real monsters in this neighborhood

For Immediate Release

(Arlington, WA)
A man woke to a new day today.
He hoped that things would go alright.
He kissed his wife and hugged his kids.
He drove his car.
Checked his email.
Clicked on some websites.

A man went to lunch today.
He hoped that things would go alright.
He ordered the teriyaki chicken.
He tried to make his chopsticks break perfectly
Into two symmetrical pieces.
He asked for hot sauce on the side.

A man checked the clock today.
He hoped that things would go alright.
He wished the last hour would slip away.
He made a list of work to do another day.
Checked his email.
Clicked on some websites.

A man returned home at the end of the day.
He hoped that things would go alright.
He kissed his wife and hugged his kids.
He turned on the TV.
Laughed at the jokes.
Clicked through the channels.

Things have gone alright, he said.
And tomorrow, I hope they go the same.

Black Thursday

Black Thursday is here
4 more years...

Can I Watch?

I know it seems suspicious
But my motive’s not malicious
And there’s no one in my life
Can I watch you come online?
Can I watch you come online?

It’s not a first edition
But it’s in very fine condition
And signed by the author’s second wife
Can I watch you start to cry?
Can I watch you start to cry?

I tried not to be annoying
But my affections can be cloying
Like a sugar-coated mouse
Can I watch you shrink and hide?
Can I watch you shrink and hide?

It’s a flagrant disregard
But I’m camped in your back yard
With the pool boy and your spouse
Can I watch you die inside?
Can I watch you die inside?

It’s not in good condition
But it’s a limited edition
And I’d like to take it out now
And place it on your shelf

Loooong Weekend in Bakersfield

Bakersfield is behind us. The van has been rescued from the Automotive Torture Facility and we are on our way to Los Angeles, where we will play several gigs.

I got talked into doing a few hours on the wheels of steel as a guest DJ at the Trailer Trash Disco. Probably the highlight of the weekend.

Need I Say More?

Broke Down in Bakersfield

Arrrrrgggghhhhh!
The first major screw up of the Tour is upon us.
The Thunder Echo Van has broken down on the way to LA. After hours of sitting next to some very decorative tumbleweeds at the side of I-5 a pirate with a patch over one eye and a tow truck hauled the van into the nearest town, a single-story sprawl of stucco houses called Bakersfield.
While sharing horror stories with the other motorists in the lobby of the Bakersfield Auto Torture Facility it became apparent that 90% of all break downs on I-5 occur within 20 miles of Bakersfield. There is an energy sink hole centered on this San Joaquin Valley town that seeks out mechanical weakness in passing automobiles and strands them in the dust and desolation of Bakersfield. This Bakersfield Triangle not only captures passing motorists, it makes the delivery of common autoparts a multiday ordeal that involves special orders, couriers, and extraordinarily huge cash payments.

The bottom line: TEE is trapped in Bakersfield for several days at least.
The LA Show will be postponed while we wait for van parts, repairs and the required funds.

Rainy San Fran

Our San Francisco show almost got rained out.
Seems sunny California has been getting tons of rain lately. The parking lot of the Yellow Panic Room, where we played last night, turned into a freaking lake. The local taggers apparently are using boats to keep the walls spray painted. That is me and my be-a-utiful wife Evelyn posing with the local graffiti after rowing the van out of 3 feet of water and saving the equipment.

The show was fun. A busload of old hippies came in from Alameda. They kept throwing joints on stage and requesting Grateful Dead songs. I told the audience we would do our version of Casey Jones. Then while the band jammed on some funky kung fu disco theme, I read choice sections from the California Department of Motor Vehicles Commercial License Test: “Which of the following is the correct term for a long commercial vehicle’s tendency to swing wide on turns? A. Sidetracking, B. Offtracking or C. Fishtailing?” I’m pretty sure they noticed that I had taken some liberties with Mr. Garcia’s music and lyrics. Thanks to Byron and Tami for protecting us from the restless natives and for feeding us after the gig. Monkey Boy had too many margaritas, said he wanted to join a mariachi band and began singing Mexican folk songs. I didn’t know Monkey Boy knew any Mexican folk songs.

Next stop Los Angeles.

Ego Lying On The Floor

Ego lying on the floor
Don't want it anymore
I'm bigger than that
Monkey chattering dingbat

Why you givin' me
The third degree?

How restless is my mind
Grabbed and shaken
By wild sensory shows.
How to gain control?

Just like I tame the wind
Let it blow
Let it blow
Let it blow me home
To where I've always been

Slowly begin to see
That Ego isn't me.

The Seattle Show

Thanks to the girls at the merchandise table. The Seattle Show was a kick. Flavio de LaToyota and his entourage came out in full force. Thanks to everybody who has been buying the CD, My Old Future, at the shows and at the Thunder Echo Online Store. Special thanks to Mike, Fred, Dan and all the others who have been helping out and keeping things moving.

We are hoping to post some more pictures from the road very soon, if Monkey Boy can get his digital camera to work. Thanks Seattle. Sorry the Seahawks blew it in the playoffs.
--TEE

Backstage at the BC Show

A Great Show in BC. Due to artistic disagreements with our record company, the Tour is not being promoted very heavily. So we are doing a lot of guerilla marketing and even a few guerilla gigs. Our next stop is Seattle. Keep your eyes and your mind open. TEE is on the way.

World Tour 2005

The first show of the My Old Future World Tour 2005 kicked off in the great white north of British Columbia. We got a warm and wacky welcome from the crowd. Notice the TEE Shirt in the picture. You can get them at the gigs or at the Thunder Echo Online Store. Thanks to all our fans old and new who showed up and shook their groove things.

The New TEE CD!

My Old Future is the new CD by The Thunder Echo Ensemble.
The studio work is finished.
The CD has been mastered.
The art work has been selected and approved by the band.
Now it is time for you to do your part.
Buy the CD, My Old Future, at Cafepress.com:
http://www.cafepress.com/thunderecho

You can also buy TEE Shirts, Time Machines, and other great stuff.

Check back here on the TEE Blog for more news about the upcoming world tour and other TEE events.

We are very happy with the new album and hope you will enjoy it too.
Buy a CD for yourself and buy one as a gift for someone you love.
-- TEE

Driven Home, Driving Snow

A toad flattened beneath the treads of
Steel-belted all weather tires
The humming drone in my head of
Pavement
Impacting tires
Impacting pavement
Impacting tires
Impacting pavement
Impacting

The endless hiss of practice conversations
And imagined conversations
And the echo of occasional,
Real conversation
With family members
Discussing dinner options
Discussing clothing styles
Discussing bedtimes for children
But never mentioning death
Or the dying of our loved one
Flattened beneath the treads of
Rugged hiking boots or
Comfortable-but-impractical sandals
Worn with socks to keep off the chill
Of the snow on winter roads
Covering the beloved toad
Flattened beneath the treads of
Steel-belted all weather tires

It will be good to get the road noise
Out of my head
Good to be
Driven home
Driving snow
Finally to sleep
The hiss of traveled roads
Drowned out by the dreaming croak
Of flattened toads