Portions of the band are on this tour. Come see us in Your Town.

For tour dates check http://www.myspace.com/ocelotpage

See you in Knoxville.

Speak of the mercy,
speak of the lamb

and when all of that is done,
come to Christ in America:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXZbIGJrDkg

Days of unbroken gray and relentless wind whipping across our bow, manipulating beards as contemplative fingers might do. North across the middle American plains. Have you found Jesus? Does a tie once severed require mending? Are you an addict? You are an addict. Hold on to your prayers and the wisdom of ages, bearing in mind: Wishes are fishes, some caught, some escaped, some just too insignificant to keep in good faith. The failings of flesh may be bolstered by the strength of bone and will. But, no, not here, amongst these long dead thieves and buffalo killers, ramblers lost in some concrete moment; staggering on dusty streets, all faith in the firmament, none in this hallowed ground, none in his own once strong arms, 'lead me not into temptation'? What of the strength to resist? What of the freedom to choose? There will be no swaying this endless tide of sand. Death holds him close, whispers terrifying truths in his ear. The infinite aperture of the 'common end' is but a pinhole to this body abandoned by freedom.

McAlester, Oklahoma
"Home Of Gene Stipe," the billboard proclaims. Stipe, back in 1998, helped out in the Walter Roberts Senate Campaign. He was sentenced to five years probation and the maximum fine of $735, 567 for fraudulently "funneling" (not really clear on how one puts money through a funnel) $248,000 into the campaign. He also lied orally and in writing while under oath. Some fella.

Events blaze across time with the speed of blackstrap. Texas under the influence of anise and the blood of some vague ungulate. Though we drag our feet, though empires rise and fall in the time it takes dice to roll off the fingers and come to rest, though events take Texas Time in Texas, they still fit in a single day. Whirling form of dust and mesquite, hickory and redbud, the bleach of bones and the tanning of hides, all embedded in this land as sand embeds in lash and skin. And when the company is fine in Austin, it is Mighty fine (one, not I, but one, might say Texas Fine). But there is another maelstrom, one of flesh, that writhes and shivers along E 6th St, which, by John Hunter's account, is the true earthly embodiment of the discarded (or, as They say: fallen) angel. By this other storm, this other beast of human bodies, shall we be devoured; consumed, of our own volition, in body and will. Is this the Lone Star? The revolving impenetrable singularity beckoning with bent finger to all that which lies outside itself. If, as the scientists say, the universe tends towards entropy, then, perhaps, Texas, true to the desires of it's prodigal son, is truly fulfilling the "plan" of "god."

Six black cats on this bad luck tour. Though, it seems that mode of binary qualification was abandoned, or lost like some segment of time recently removed. And much like the dissolution of good and evil, neither pressing forward nor holding back. They bode well for this collection of travelers, perhaps our collective polarity reverses the contrary blackness of cat, perhaps the feline shades en masse gravitate toward the traveler; companion in social solitude, friend to all and perpetual stranger, such is the black cat. Moving south into mist and marsh, the algal air inducts electricity into hairs of our forearms, shoes come off, blankets abandoned in the night. 'Great grey green' waters set about with cypress trees and murky as the last moments of the mind before sleep. Saw a skunk in a field. Crustacean meal and so many beers, dice games, he pointed out to left field with a sly grin, nodded for the pitch, took it with five fingers, muscles pulling in motions, familiar and confident; his success is assured. His invocation of nothingness, a minute manifestation of true magic as conjured with naught but will. We all took one step back, then another. Accompanied by agents of construed darkness and the revelation of will to the void, this must be the moors of gytrash, the swamps of ignis fatuus, and I think we are all very glad to be here.

why do all the boys in this neighborhood have beards? and why are all the girls so pink? The Indian cabby asked us... Why the beard? You said, once, that all civilisation was but the playing at patriarchy by the children playing patriarch... It is just that. We are trying to realize all the lessons of the last century in our very bodies... In that brief decade(ish) of Aquarius(ish) we were told: grow those sensitive roots, learn to love the "inner woman/child," whatever, some bullshit reaction to the uber-tough 1950's, uber-tough in its repression of all that is sensitivity, take it like a man... clearly what George Jones' papa said to him before either of them heard the "sound of the train that took [him] off to war"... so they withdraw and move gently and withdraw from all their masculinity... In this motion towards some perceived "feminine mystique," a total misinterpretation of all that is and can be present in the person that is woman takes place. What they took it to mean, what they made it to mean, was to embrace all that is vulnerability and weakness within themselves... which is honorable and necessary for growth, but, when qualified as embracing the inner woman, the inner child, it becomes a slight to both women and children, in their power and strength... it further idealizes beauty and the concept of innocence, the belief in some mythic purity...
And the beard? Are we trying to reclaim manhood? To signify that being possessed of true and pure masculinity presupposses vulnerability and weakness, and to believe otherwise is the repression... Are we trying to signify what wisdom we possess or hope to gain...

Played a set last night at a bar in town, my father came to see.

Christopher is a saxophonist. Hustler. Victim perpetually. I got a two year old, he says. I got a busted hip, he says. It just isn't fucking professional! he screams at the sound guy. He thinks he is in my band this night, it is not an impression I ever nurtured... Yeah yeah, Jesse, take it away... My friend Adee is going to play drums... What the fuck?! I told you (soundguy) I am walking with a fucking cane here, its why Im fucking late...
Dad tries to intervene: hey man, you don't have to get upset, take a breath.
Right.
He yelled some more.
I stood up and told him he should just take my set... didn't feel comfortable with the energy anymore ("We deal in vibes," Ray said)...
Fine, you're right, he says. This ain't no fucking good, trying to kick me off my own stage... move those fucking instrument cases, I wanna play piano... Nah, nah, Im fucking sick of this... he stalks off, cane in one hand, he hands two saxophones and a clarinet to Adee...
The sound guy is baffled, looking at me... yeah, of course, I ain't gonna leave in silence... so I didn't

The Brattleboro Organ Company, apparently, was the first company in America to pay women an equal wage...