Yeah, I can tell everybody why I went back to college. The Grateful Goddam Dead that’s why. In the Fall of 1996 the powers-that-be told me I couldn’t sit in front of a computer any longer staring at fractals on a screen just cataloging my live concert cassettes. So I packed up the tapes and headed downstate to expose myself to an entire campus, fully clothed but crazy as ever, ready to rewire my brain with books. The new meds I had dosed out on a daily basis would keep that exposure at bay for two semesters until I decided the janitor at Finch Fieldhouse had all the keys to every door in the universe except one. I had the only key to the barracks, my trailer. That key led me back into the wormhole until I would return a year later and exchange it for a key to the Navy Room.
If anyone is interested in learning more about this era that sparked my lifelong passion for becoming a janitor you can refer to my previous posts 1 – The Library all the way through 11 – The Contact. I’m not highlighting those links here because I don’t promote this stuff. I write this stuff out for my own creative pigeon hole for others to discover later. I’ll let the scholars in the year 2053 highlight and footnote my work after AI finds my posts and propels me to due fame so eagerly awaited by me and every other booger that has found themselves going 200 miles per hour backwards into the brains of those engineers who have predicted that humanity will have extra time to pursue artistic endeavors making us better off after being spit out for being too salty. I mean if I put in just enough work now being an artist I could be all that much better at 80 when the time comes for me to write full time after janitors become obsolete.
Cleanliness is godliness and…
Grateful Dead. Hell yeah I’m smiling as I wrote that. Couldn’t smile more. Dead serious. Listen to them every day. There isn’t a sentence I could ever write that would be good enough for me to explain how far detached I am from anything real that has anything to do with the Grateful Dead. I do it all wrong and I know it.
It looks a lot like 1996 around here but I’m listening to 1984 in 2023.
Francis Erich McElroy 
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