He ran.  She screamed.  It glared.  They stopped.  He moaned.  She 
prayed.  It pounced.  They ducked.  He swung.  She stabbed.  It swerved. 
They tripped.  He fainted.  She froze.  It fed.
 
The more he thought about it -- and he was trying to think about it VERY 
hard -- the more convinced Paul became that if he clipped the red wire 
it would--

"The stiff-necked little prick had it coming, and so did the fish and 
the old man!" he thought as he floated off.  Monstro the whale rarely 
regretted anything...

SWEETHEARTR. two months overdue, but it's here in time for xmas. SWEETHEARTR. we want to sell it to you!

it's yours for the staggeringly reasonable price of 8 bucks.

if you like things like fast cars, mountain vistas, dobros, or seedy underbellies, why then this is exactly the record for you.

5 new songs. individual handmade covers. 90-day money-burnt guarantee. preview "Great White" and "The Animal Kingdom" on the myspace.

and to buy one, hit the paypal button on our myspace homepage.

or, if you'd rather not use paypal, then just send devin an email and work something else out: devinfry@hotmail.com

like song titles? here they are:

1. The Animal Kingdom

2. Sweetheartr Stomp

3. 2nd Time

4. Beekeepr

5. Great White

gather round friends! i see the Future.

it goes: starting in two weeks, we gotta string of shows. i look into my dirty crystalware and there you are, sweetie, full of DiGiorno and ready to go.

the doorman will ask you for something like $3.08. if you're a true player, no sweat, you have exact change. Kudos, you're in. at the bar you'll only need 2 more bucks for a single Lone Star, because you didn't bring a date, because our shows are chock full of sexy singles and you know that going in, having read this and committed it to memory.

this is where you play it cool.

go up front, wait a minute, and we will start playing. and when we do, friends, suddenly it's like you're getting all your hallelujah buttons pushed over and over and over by the four of us.

i also see the Present.

the four core Salesmen have been following a number of hot leads, and the new record's going to be a while yet. we are working hard on making it awesome for you, no lie.

meantime, please check out some other totally staggering things Salesman-related:

-3/4 of us also play in The Hot Pentecostals www.myspace.com/hotpentecostals.

having dispelled certain unsavory rumors re: coke boners, this band is spreading its mighty haunches and taking flight. Emos, Mohawk, and Carousel shows upcoming.

-Salesman and The Hot Pentecostals are playing a Halloween Eve (10.30) show at the Carousel Lounge with the Bellfuries www.myspace.com/bellfuries.

the Bellfuries are a fuckin great band. that show is going to be oh so good.

-our inhuman drumbot Benjamin is the metal behind Peyton Gin www.myspace.com/peytongin.

at long last they're playing a show November 1. must see.

in conclusion, if we keep stretching and reaching and grasping and reaching higher and farther and longer, we will all someday be as tall and marvelous as the seven foot man that fronts the White Ghost Shivers, amen.

are adapted from an 1887 poem of the same name by Morris Rosenfeld. he worked in a sweatshop pressing pants. he wrote in Yiddish. the poem is about how the narrator never sees his son because he leaves for work too early in the a.m. and comes home too late at night. the kid's always asleep by then; this is distressing. "Ere dawn my labor drives me forth; 'Tis night when I am free; A stranger am I to my child; And stranger my child to me."

the poem as it appears in the anthology Songs of Labor and Other Poems:

I have a little boy at home,
A pretty little son;
I think sometimes the world is mine
In him, my only one.

But seldom, seldom do I see
My child in heaven's light;
I find him always fast asleep…
I see him but at night.

Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;
'Tis night when I am free;
A stranger am I to my child;
And strange my child to me.

I come in darkness to my home,
With weariness and—pay;
My pallid wife, she waits to tell
The things he learned to say.

How plain and prettily he asked:
"Dear mamma, when's 'Tonight'?
O when will come my dear papa
And bring a penny bright?"

I hear her words—I hasten out—
This moment must it be!—
The father-love flames in my breast:
My child must look at me!

I stand beside the tiny cot,
And look, and list, and—ah!
A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:
"O, where is my papa!"

I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;
I kiss them not in vain.
They open,—O they see me then!
And straightway close again.

"Here's your papa, my precious one;—
A penny for you!"—ah!
A dream still moves the baby-lips:
"O, where is my papa!"

And I—I think in bitterness
And disappointment sore;
"Some day you will awake, my child,
To find me nevermore."

i can't be angry with you, you've not been around. if i mind, i mind, if i don't mind, it's all the same to you. your love touches indifference with one hand down your own front, one down mine. if i mind, i mind, if i don't mind, i can wear this airless welcome out. nevermind, you never mind, you. reason is beauty, that's what you always say. but shit is shit, isn't it. and what's done is done. this is it. i can wear this careless welcome out.

maps of the moon decorate our rented rooms. we're nobody's fools, we have our copycat crimes to pursue. We reflect what's cast upon us too. so month to month to month to month to month our landlords make a killing on us. we're nobody's fools, if we were him, we'd do it too. we reflect what's done to us too. poor table, poor cradle, poor closet, four poor chairs, poor baby may be asleep in there. oh well.

applaud the steady ones. all those sheeted dead there in the sun. it's bad, it's bad, i'm doing all i can. i'd square myself to anything for you.

there's a lie slipping through my fingers, my fingers that are always in your hair. it's just a thing i've been biting back. i see her move her seat up to the wheel, sleepy looking over at me. the car rolled twice, she couldn't see to see. everybody tells me not to think of that. they say there's no blame. but that's not yours.

it's only a feeling, but i get it all the time: once my burden, twice my crime. it's only a lot to swallow. i am one with it all in my throat. why would you want to click in place? you must be nodding off. brace for an alarm, it'll be a long, hard wait till the medicine takes. still, we file outside like a parade. i want no part of this alias game. i want no part of this all too fast learning machine.