Get a SIGNED COPY HERE for $25.00.

"Vineyard owners Maynard James Keenan and Eric Glomski extend successful run of signings to Northern California and Tucson Arizona Stronghold Vineyard vintners Maynard James Keenan (Caduceus Cellars/Merkin Vineyards owner and front man for Tool and Puscifer) and Eric Glomski (Page Springs Cellars) will host, in conjunction with Whole Foods Market, a series of Northern California/Arizona bottle signings beginning Jan. 2 in San Francisco, Calif. The announcement comes on the heels of completing over a dozen highly successful bottle signings over the latter half of 2008 at Whole Foods locations in Southern California, Las Vegas and Arizona. Glomski and Keenan are currently featured on Gary Vaynerchuk's Wine Library TV, which is now available for viewing at tv.winelibrary.com.

Dates and locations for the signings are:

JANUARY 2 4:30 - 7:30 pm San Francisco, CA (450 Rhode Island St.)
3 2 - 5 pm Oakland, CA (230 Bay Pl.)
4 2 - 5 pm Cupertino, CA (20955 Stevens Creek Blvd.)
6 4:30 - 7:30 pm Tucson, AZ (3360 E. Speedway Blvd.)

FEBRUARY 17 4:30 - 7:30 pm Fresno, CA (650 W. Shaw Ave.)
18 4:30 - 7:30 pm Petaluma, CA (621 E. Washington St.)
19 4:30 - 7:30 pm Sacramento, CA (4315 Arden Way)

About Arizona Stronghold Vineyards:

ASV lies at the eastern edge of Sulfur Springs Valley, in Cochise County (alongside the Wilcox Playa) in a small, unincorporated area known as the Kansas Settlement. The vineyard site is 80 acres with 66 acres currently under vine. Co-owned by Eric Glomski (Page Springs Cellars) and Maynard James Keenan (Caduceus Cellars/Merkin Vineyards), ASV's mission is to present affordable top quality Arizona wine made by passionate Arizona based winemakers. Keenan says of the vineyard, "One of our many goals here in Arizona is to establish a cornerstone around which locally owned and operated, sustainable and organic industries can thrive."

Just a quick holiday note on what's going on with us. We recently had Gary Vaynerchuk out at the winery for a combination bottle/barrel tasting. It's a 2 part interview at tv.winelibrary.com here are the links:

PART ONE
http://tv.winelibrary.com

PART TWO
http://tv.winelibrary.com

And for those of you who I didn't send this to, here's a book's worth of press that appeared in the Phoenix New Times. Clearly we greased them. They gave us big props.

http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com

Enjoy. Looking forward to letting you all taste this juice.

Wish you all a warm and wonderful holiday."

Peace and Vino,
M J Keenan
Winemaker in Training

LOCATION: LATINO ARTS, INC, AUDITORIUM & GALLERY: 1028 S. 9th STREET, MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN, 53204
TIME 5:00 PM

Jan. 6 - 4:30 to 7:30 pm - TUCSON (3360 E. Speedway Blvd)

Something to be thankful for: Danny wasn't there... or Adam for that matter. Camella and Rynne recently returned from their Great White Shark adventure off the coast of Guadalupe Island. After a (nauseating?) 22 hour boat ride from the Baja peninsula, the two climbed inside that 'protective' cage and, once lowered to the proper depth, got some great photos and footage of the creatures.

photo by Camella Grace

HAPPY TRAILS

CoSM BENEFIT PARTY in MIAMI, FL. DURING ART BASEL
featuring ALEX and ALLYSON GREY
DECEMBER 4, 2008 - 7:00 PM

www.cosm.org

Saints & SINNERS

HARDCOVER(U.S.)
HARDCOVER(U.K.)
SOFT COVER(U.S.)
SOFT COVER(U.K.)

More info at www.dailygrail.com

love,

photo by Rynne

MESSAGE FROM ERIK: "My two guitars, a Don Grosh Custom and a Tom Anderson Custom were taken from me in the Los Angeles area sometime during the second week of October. They were inside of a black nylon Levy double gig bag. Don Grosh Custom: Serial #419 is a blue (although slightly sea-green after sun exposure) Retro Classic with a quilted maple top and an unfinished birds eye maple neck. Pickups are Lindy Fralin blues specials with a Fralin Unbucker in the bridge - 5 way switch. Gold hardware. New stainless steel frets. Tom Anderson Custom: Serial 04-17-97A is an orange (translucent amber) semi-hollow body with a quilted maple top and rosewood fretboard. Pickups are two Fralin Vintage Hots with a Rob Timmons Arcane humbucker in the bridge. Guitar was converted from a switcheroo setup and has a 5 way switch. 2 good sized chips in the headstock of the guitar. Both instruments are very dear to me and are the only two guitars I use. Would appreciate anyone you can spread this information to, any music stores, guitar shops, friends, etc - anything that might help me recover these instruments. I am offering a $500 reward for each instrument."

Please email guitars@erikmadsen.com or call 310-439-2028 if you know of their whereabouts.

Here I am busier than a long-tailed cat covering crap on a marble floor in a room full of freemasons in rocking chairs, (hell, even busier than a pair of jumper cables at an Alabama church picnic!), and there's all this e-mail about GHWT. Okay, there are a few about other subjects, such as: "Was Maynard in Guanajuato, Mexico in a cosmic envelope last week?"... "Was Crowley an Indigo Child?"... "Was Maynard the Golden Cowboy at El Festival Cervantino?", but mostly Guitar Hero World Tour this, Guitar Hero World Tour that. All I want to do is watch "Reign of the Gargoyles" again on the sci-fi channel - shit, I wish I had thought of that: Nazis re-animating stone gargoyles during WWII to attack squadrons of B-17 bombers (I knew the Krauts had anti-gravitic flugelrads... but the speedy zigzags of hordes of gargoyles dodging the spray of those .50 caribers!), but now I've got all this e-mail to delete... And I'm just about to zap another nasty one when comes news from Activision of "sensitivity issues" with some of the GHWT drum kit controllers. So it begins... those mysterious glitches. I was afraid something like this might happen, knowing certain things, but let me put another cube of ice in my glass of gin... and stir it up a bit... before telling you what I think might be causing this...

Although I personally have no interest in playing GHWT (preferring, instead, to stick to my Korg and Kurzweils), Saturday night (October 25) I nevertheless decided to go with Danny to the private launch party at Best Buy in West Hollywood. And being that it was West Hollywood, as we inched down La Brea in the rumbling orange Murcielago, at red lights, in the crosswalks of nearly every intersection were boisterous mobs dressed up in their Halloween finery. Looking around at the threads, it appeared that his year's more popular adult costumes were the same as last year's exercise in banality, including the predictable 'Girl-That-Went-Missing-In-Aruba', 'Evil Jester with a Broccoli Popsicle', 'Jesus Pez Dispenser', and "Vixen Pirate Wench on a Sparkling Wheel-less Bicycle.' Being that it's an election year, it was no surprise to see the 'Lyndon LaRouche Saying Farwell to Martian Colonists in the Shimmering Crystal City of New Schwabenland' ensemble. It was also no surprise to see, among the dark joviality, some protesters (or counter-protestors) who were probably protesting a noosed Palin effigy, but in West Hollywood there are protesters of everything, including endangered animal crackers. As we neared the Best Buy, finally there was a unique costume: 'Professional Window Display Designer.' And, alas, Eric Cartman! Which brings to mind a thought: Am I the only one who thought that, rather than fight, Cartman should have put a hit on Wendy Testaburger, and be done with her once and for all. I mean, what ever happened to cutting-edge comedy?

With our passes and wristbands secured, outside Best Buy, we (reluctantly) walked the "red carpet", which for some reason was actually black. This would be the kind of thing that would make Danny a tad uncomfortable, but because we were several hours late, and most of those invited to the festivities were now at a nearby sound stage where "Smashing Pumpkins" were performing, it hardly mattered... Still, I had visions of a large Venerian dragon speaking with a cockney lisp over the voder, and of Snarks that were boojums in black Homburgs, and I'm not talking about Halloween costumes here...

Electing to walk to the studio lot rather than be chauffeured in a Prius hybrid (because it was so close - not because it was a Prius), we entered what can only be described as GHWT bliss. Once inside the sound stage, it wasn't hard to see the reason for all the hoopla... all the fuss and feathers. What's that? Cho!!! Chicken gumbo! Our first stop was at a complimentary buffet featuring Cajun cuisine in silver chafing dishes heated by sterno fah-yuh: Gumbo, pasta, Louisiana sausage, pistolets, spicy popcorn shrimp, and crab cakes. The inheritance of the saints in light! Everything except fried frogs legs, chee wee, and big black grasshoppers, and I ought to put a 'conja' on them for that (you shake some cayenne pepper on them frog legs!) Better than a Boucherie (even at carnaval), and enough to make rapid gastric emptying almost seem like a good thing!

But what was that woman in the polka-dot dress doing there among the partygoers? (Just a Halloween costume, I suppose). I honestly don't know why some Tool enthusiasts, including their most fanatical fans, seem to be so vehemently opposed to the band's participation in the game when, instead, they should be rocking in the irised spotlight!

Although we had to wind our way through some demo kiosks where players selected their tattoos from the "Create-a-Rocker" mode while others chose their pickguard finish, next stop was the open bar, with its GHWT-themed drinks. Unable to understand any of these, I opted for a margarita... and then another. It's not like its "Rock Band." It's not like the game is going to prevent some musically inclined individual from picking up a real instrument... one more of those without salt, please... Yes, I've heard all the arguments, but, c'mon, folks! Are video sports games to be blamed for no one having beaten 'Cy' Young's 511 career wins, or breaking Joltin' Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak? Then how do you explain the all-time homerun record? Steroids? Wait a minute, isn't one of my best friends the keyboard tech for "Smashing Pumpkins!" If anyone harbors concerns about GHWT keeping people from playing actual guitars, drums, etc., then where's all this same concern that violent video games like "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas", "Killer 7", and others will keep its players content to merely confine the violence to the screen instead of taking real guns and knives out into the street? Huh, what about that all you naysayers?

Before heading to the side of the stage where Smashing Pumpkins were doing an unusual (nay, bizarre) cover of Pink Floyd's "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun", I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Tool's contribution to GHWT - not just the Tool-themed venue, but I was a bit curious to see if, already, certain (hidden) levels had been accessed. Here I'm referring to levels besides the back-stage extravaganza (if there was such a level) and, in particular, to the Etidorhpa-like utopia...(again, assuming there really is such a thing). But as I passed mini-stages with players strumming guitar controllers and pounding faux-drums, beads of sweat on their faces and note gems flashing in their bleary eyes, noticing the multiple screens with their "Rock Meter" and "Star Power" features, I started thinking about another game. An arcade game from the early 1980s called "Polybius."

I would have to check the September 2003 Tool newsletter, but if memory serves me correctly, the maze-oriented game with complex puzzle elements was believed to be responsible for its players suffering terrible nightmares, seizures, and bouts of amnesia.

Even stranger still, in one Pacific northwest suburb where the extremely popular game was possibly being secretly tested, the owner of the arcade reported government types in dark suits who would, from time to time, collect data such as the scores, notes from the sub-screens, and other records, but NEVER take any money out of the machine. With regards to these alphabet-soup government agency men, whose dress and behavior is reminiscent of the MIB silencers of UFO lore, it's interesting to note that the game itself was supposedly designed and manufactured by a corporation called "Sinneschlossen" (Sinnesloschen?), which in German means "sense-deleting" or "senseless." As I suggested back in 2003, "senseless" could be a phonetic pun for "cents less", thus making it a cryptic allusion to a documented MIB phenomena where the things in the black Homburgs threaten the experiencer of something highly anomalous by placing a coin in the palm of the person's hand and then make it seemingly disappear into thin air, afterwards claiming that the same thing will happen to the person's heart if they don't keep quiet. If not exactly organic robotoids, the black suit types were thought by some to be part of a military intel outfit, such as those who were once rumored to be collecting the initials and scoring information from "Space Invaders" and "Missile Command." (As a side note, the ancient Greek historian Polybius wrote about "anacyclosis", meaning internal decay of government or how democracy turns into tyranny.) Of course until someone produces a dead cabinet or Polybius ROM, most people will continue to think the whole thing is just an urban legend. But is it?

Why was I thinking about the dark rumors surrounding the Polybius game? Certainly NOT to suggest that there might be record industry types who secretly monitor GHWT, gathering data from the "Rock Meter" and "Star Power" meters, looking to put together the next super band (or next super prog-metal band). Nor am I in any way suggesting that, if that were indeed the case, with Tool's contribution to the game, somewhere among the more psychedelic levels of their trademark art, perhaps in the cavernous realms far beneath this "Egyplosis", the grand sorcerer will utter a certain Word of Power (that is also his/her name), thus radically disrupting any such industry scheme (if such ingenious machinations weren't simply the product of my own fevered imagination). No, I don't suppose any counter-measures were needed to be taken by the band. It's merely a coincidence that the set list is "VICARIOUS" (the meaning should be obvious to those who enjoy GHWT), "PARABOLA" (recall the opening sequence of the video with its record company mutants), and "SCHISM" (no comment necessary). Any 'mysterious' glitches, should they occur, are to be expected with a new version of a product like GHWT, right?..

But if such a 'sorcerer' (i.e. embedded code of a highly unusual nature) truly exists, how can he/she be found, and thus be prevented from uttering the Word? Might it be that after encountering the bizarrely uniformed security personnel riding mechanical golden ostriches in one of the kaleidoscopic tunnels, one must search for the garden of ******** where patches of grotesque crimson moss are gradually transformed into an eyeless guide with slippery prismatic flesh. Ignore its diarrheaic diatribe. Similarly, don't listen to the old prospectors tales in Calnogor or elsewhere about the golden rope of cyber-Amargosa. That will only lead you to anti-rainbows and chocolate fountains. Instead, from the thing on a seat of aloe-green velvet, obtain the CrackerJack-like prize knife used to separate the soul from the body... No that's not right... damn the woman in the polka-dot dress, and the open bar... It's the two powerful metals - Terrelium and Aquelium that are important. Take it from a person who purchased a treasure map of Kokoweef from the gentleman at the ruins of the Rectilineator, it's the two powerful metals that are needed to construct a dynamo... just like those in the story...

After hanging out for a while with my friend (who would be leaving after the private launch party to go on tour with Smashing Pumpkins), Danny grabbed his gift (GHWT, a Wii console, and other dreeguilles - actually, as I mentioned a while back, both Danny and his girlfriend are pretty good at GH), and we were chauffeured in a Prius hybrid back to Best Buy (thankfully the lovely in the 'Devil Grrrl' costume heard the silent contraption). From there, after a final drink, it was back to my Potemkin Village residence. Remember, I was busier than a Tijuana whore on nickel night in a room full of freemasons in rocking chairs. Oh, one more thing: "No", GHWT wasn't "the big thing" (your words) alluded to in earlier posts. I believe that's still a go. In the meantime, keep on rocking in the irised spotlight!..

HAPPY TRAILS

NOV. 5 Henderson/Las Vegas, NV (100 S. Green Valley Pkwy) 4:30-7:30 PM
NOV. 7 La Jolla, CA (8825 Villa La Jolla Dr. at Nobel) 5:00-9:00 PM

SHOW INFO

PREVIEW

VIEW

Also, MAYNARD will be on JONESY'S JUKEBOX (INDIE 103.1) on OCTOBER 20th (12 PM, PST), and on JOE ESCALANTE's "WINO WEDNESDAY" on OCTOBER 22 at 8 AM. I'll post more info when it becomes available.

crappy blurry photo by BMB (using the camera Adam bought me, so this is definitely Tool-related news)

Scott Kinsey : Keyboards
Arto Tuncboyaciyan : Percussion/Voice
Jimmy Earl : Bass
Gary Novak : Drums

Set's at 9:00 & 11:00 PM
$15 cover charge

www.scottkinsey.com
www.thebakedpotato.com

The Baked Potato
3787 Cahuenga Blvd West. Studio City, CA 91604
(818) 980-1615

"Up from Earth's Center through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate:
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate."

Nuggets of gold like plums in a pudding and the rich purple luminosity of a Sedona twilight sky await me, but first I have an important decision to make: should I take the West Bethany Road exit in Phoenix for a WhataBurger, fries and Dr. Pepper or drive another sweltering, saguaro-dotted half hour for a "Bad Ass" Ortega chili burger (no cheese, please) and iced-down longneck at Kid Chilleen's in Black Canyon City? Without mentally tossing a coin, I head towards the giant orange 'W' over yonder, mainly just to save valuable time. And besides, it'll make LaraLee's spurs jangle. It has come to my attention that she has a hankering for the manna of the Lone Star State, and, frankly, this Yankee is tarred of hearin' about it. Still, as familiar as it might seem, I warn her that here in Arizona the chuck wagon comes without sparkling pee-splashers, toothpicks in empty Tabasco sauce bottles, fly swatters, and pralines in waxed paper... not to mention a right neighborly "Kin ah hep yew?" "Long as they don't ladle any Thousand Island sludge on a dead cow, I'll be in crabgrass heaven" she assures me...

Back on bumpy I-17, with the orchestral colors of a Grofe symphony blaring and the purdy blonde sitting next to me as happy as a dillo in the azaleas (burp!), a text message from Rynne informs us that her and Danny have just crossed the Arizona state line. What? That doesn't seem possible! Although they had planned on beating the morning commuter traffic out of L.A. by leaving at 6:00 AM, as the fates would have it (dead car batteries we were told), they didn't get on the road until 1:00 PM. On the other hand, Tejas and I had left at 9:00 AM sharp, and now Danny was only a little over an hour behind us! Like I said, it doesn't seem possible, but it's nice to know that he isn't pushing it - that or that Range Rover of his just doesn't have the giddy up of the shiny Italian thing (probably a good thing as I hear in Maricopa County it's not uncommon to find speeders spread-eagle over a campfire). Maybe they stopped for a souvenir. Come to think of it, a jalapeno sucker does sound pretty good right now. And speaking of highway eyesores, what's with all these dudes in pink boxer shorts eating oxidized green bologna?

Besides the tranquility of red rock country, and the peak of the annual Perseid meteor shower, I'm hoping to accomplish several things during my three-day trek to the Copper State. One being further research into old treasure legends of the area, including the lost Dutchman mine (or cache) believed to be in the shadow of "Weaver's Needle" in the ominous Superstition Mountain Range. In the never-ending bonanza of colorful, often apocryphal tales of Western Americana, perhaps related to this is the mysterious disappearance of old time prospector James Kidd in 1949, and the even more enigmatic handwritten will that he left behind - a considerable fortune for "research or some scientific proof of a soul of the human body which leaves at death."

And when not Breyfogling with dead prospectors while slouched in a comfortable chair, or hiking among the twisted juniper of Bell Rock, I'm planning on visiting Maynard, the oenophile, himself, who is currently at his Jerome homestead gearing up for the first Aurelia harvest. Along with a grand tour of his Merkin Vineyards, I'm looking forward to tasting some local creations (wine grown "in a place like this"), in particular, a sampling of his own offerings. And then there are the more esoteric vinticultural (not to be confused with vinicultural) activities of 'Eschol' in Arizona to pursue. As for Danny and Rynne, I promised shooting stars and a coyote's yip... prickly-pear margaritas and energy vortexes. What could be better than watching a majestic hawk from the shade of a paloverde tree, or some mesquite-grilled ingesta washed down with cerveza exquisita as herds of javalina and escaped female chain gangs rustle beneath the desert starshine?

Seated around the fire-pit with a cold cans of Modelo at our favorite little resort in Sedona, the caretaker of sorts and long-time Arizona resident, "Jim", tells us about some recent daylight sightings of an anomalous object in the area - this being a mysterious black orb that appeared near Bell Rock a couple of days ago, moving in utter silence before vanishing amid the breathtaking scenery. Rather than being of an extraterrestrial/inter-dimensional nature, Jim has a more prosaic explanation, believing the areoform to be one of MaCain's newest toys (more likely, though, a device owned by sheriff Arpaio after saving money by eliminating salt & pepper from his prisons). As I'm about to press him for further details, Danny and Rynne pull up in the dusty Range Rover, letting an exuberant boxer named "Levi" out to explore the place. With an eye on the gathering clouds, I suggest that we enjoy the sunset before getting supplies for tonight's meteor extravaganza. Soon, however, the fire-pit is invaded by a swarm of little kids on vacation with their parents, daddy now preparing to make those campfire treats known as s'mores. In the process of lighting a few logs, he hands us a couple of warm Bud Lites for our trouble. Even so I can't help but mention something to the young 'ums about the deadly bark scorpions who like to nestle in the brittle wood. After all, in the highly unlikely event that I should decide to partake of something that grows from meadow muffins, I most certainly don't want it to be spoiled by the mirth of Hershey-besmirched faces. Wouldn't you agree, LaraLee? "Ah surely doooo", she replies, flicking a Marlboro butt into the flames. Bud Lites!

With bats wheeling overhead in search of prey in the rapidly diminishing light, knowing that Danny and Rynne didn't take the West Bethany Home exit in Phoenix, I present them both with an appetizer hotdog dressed with Wolf Brand Chili (that we received as a care package). Is it a mistake to give Levi one as well I wonder as he stares at me with those big sad eyes? But there's more. Even without bullfighters on velvet and sequined sombreros on the walls of our chalet, someone brings tortilla chips, guacamole, and a special chili con queso dip made with Ro-tel tomatoes and Velveeta, which, according to my Texas lexicon, is quite larrupin'.... or so I'm told. At any rate, it ought to hold 'em until we fire up the grill for something more substantial.

So far we've seen rabbits, quail, and roadrunners, but it's only a matter of time before the nocturnal critters make an appearance. That's also when one can sometimes observe unexplained misty white lights moving over the nearby rock formations. Not exactly being of the crystal-laden, brake for worms and caterpillars persuasion (as is evident by the "Never mind Freeing Tibet: Visualize Using Your Turn Signal" bumper sticker on my rental), I'd like to think that they're car headlights. But they're not, and it says so right here in my "Ultimate Sedona Guide to Unexplained Misty White Lights." Whatever the phenomenon is, it's not occurring tonight, and let it be duly noted in the Akashic records.

In the dramatic luminescence, tonight it's Venus that commands one's attention, although Danny's got my spotting scope focused on the wain in which the legendary treasure of the medieval Knight's Templar was smuggled out of Paris (i.e. the constellation Ursa Major). Still waiting for God to hurl fiery stones, while gazing up at the glittering infinity, I think about the curious matter of the wandering prospector, Kidd, who was known to have spent countless hours in the Arizona wilderness with his eyes lifted to the heavens in contemplation of things metaphysical. Besides the whole gold-soul dichotomy, there are many puzzling mirror-opposite 'parallels' between him and the enigmatic, now celebrated priest of Rennes-le-Chateau, Berenger Sauniere. Although both were impoverished gold-hungry dreamers who obtained seemingly impossible wealth in a region steeped in legend and mystery (and blood), while Kidd lived a solitary existence and was said to be a penny-pincher, even to the point of saving his used chewing gum in an aspirin tin and nursing a nickel cigar all day, the flamboyant Sauniere, on the other hand, spared no expense, surrounding himself with all kinds of extravagances. While the reclusive Kidd performed odd jobs to pay his few dollars a week rent, the Signor of Rennes built a grand estate where he frequently entertained guests, many being notables of the time. And although both men engaged in unusual (nay, bizarre) activities after their good turn, it seems as unlikely that Kidd's sudden riches came exclusively from gambling on the stock market as Sauniere's came entirely from trafficking in illicit masses. Students of the RLC mystery might also find it intriguing that Kidd, who staked his claims in Arizona's rugged Pinals, had an associate who was a Basque from the Pyrenees, and it was this companion of his who is believed to have taken the eccentric prospector's secret to the grave.

"Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover, we must travel too."

With a few bright meteors now streaking across the less than inky black night sky, and the fuzzy Pleiades visible to the naked eye, there were other mirror-opposite parallels between the two to consider. Although, as said, one squandered his fortune on luxuries and other Quixotic endeavors while the other squirreled away his money in banks, in both cases a series of bewildering clues were left behind with regards to the possible source of their inexplicable wealth. In the case of Sauniere his bizarrely-garish 'treasure-map' church is well known to Rennes aficionados and an ever-growing interested public, while, with the prospector, any hints (in miner's terminology, call them location markers) were removed from a safe deposit box and placed among numerous canvas sacks and dusty cartons of dormant accounts and unclaimed estates in a gloomy subterranean bank vault in downtown Phoenix, Arizona.

Along with a holographic will dated January 2nd, 1946 (=23) scrawled on a scrap of paper, leaving all his worldly goods to anyone who could prove the existence of a soul of the human body which leavers at death, was a photo of the miner-prospector, dressed in of all things, a business suit, staring into the camera with "a quizzical enigmatic half- smile", while in the background was "an amorphous pasticcio of vines" (see "the Great Soul Trial" by John G. Fuller). Imaging this, I can't help but smile, myself, at the words uttered by the perplexed public servant working for the Estate Tax Commissioner's Office who first discovered the will in the dusty vault. At first thinking it must be some kind of joke, only to soon be overcome with a very eerie feeling, Mrs. Geraldine C. Swift later stated, oddly enough: "I thought that I just had to be dreaming. I even felt that I could have eaten it." But, of course, it was a joke, Mrs. Swift! Sauniere's Golden Touch was the result of performing illicit masses, and the extremely frugal Kidd, who often recited his favorite passage from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, amassed a considerable fortune, not with a prospector's pick, but by cashing in on penny stocks! As for any fanciful notions of his missing without a trace status, look for his remains at the bottom of an abandoned mineshaft in the treacherous Pinals or Superstitions. (Compare with the public spectacle farewell of Sauniere, with the priest's dead body seated upright in an armchair on a sunny terrace of a 'fairytale' tower while a parade of mourners paid their last respects by plucking tassels from his ornate chasible.)

With all this talk of the Philosopher's Stone and other far-fetched ideas, before we know it the height of this year's Perseids has come and gone, with only a few stragglers to be seen as it's now starting to get light outside. Due in large part to a brightly shining moon, admittedly the whole thing was a bit of a disappointment. No family of javalinas or floating black triangles either! From a table cluttered with empty beer bottles and crushed cigar stubs, we watch a postcard picture sunrise over the magic buttes and spires of the prestigious red rocks. With birds chirping in the dramatic lighting, I notice that thousands of ants have invaded a hunk of peanut butter fudge that was left unattended. And with the drone of bees among the variegated desert flowers comes the laughter of kids splashing in the swimming pool. Which reminds us, it's time to get a few precious hours of sleep. Soon Maynard will be calling...

Power spots or not, we're not exactly radiant and mucus free when we pull into the rustic Page Springs Cellars, a family owned winery in the Verde Valley where Maynard bottles his various Caduceus wines. Documenting our arrival is MJK, himself, wearing a generic white cap and Puscifer tee-shirt as he raises an expensive-looking camera to take a couple more photos in the sun-dappled parking lot. Walking over to us, he shakes his head in mock amused contempt upon noticing some minor dents in the Range Rover (that he sold to Danny). After exchanging a few pleasantries, LaraLee and I climb into the vintner's shiny black Rubicon Jeep so that we can begin our tour of the Merkin Vineyards. With Danny and Rynne following, we head down a narrow road into what soon becomes more forbidding terrain, passing jack pines, junipers, mesquite, and cholla cacti, although I suppose it's theoretically possible that at least one is a disguised cell phone tower (the jack pine would be my best guess). While bumping along in the Jeep, glancing around at the shimmering lava boulders in the arroyo-gutted landscape, Maynard gives us a geology lesson, pointing to the telltale stratigraphy of surrounding formations. And when not being schooled in Precambrian landforms and extraordinary erosion under brilliant blue skies, we are shown other local features of interest, such as the entrance to McCain's desert lair, Georgia Frontiere's former residence, and the future location of a Merkin market. I sure hope there's not going to be a quiz later...

Unlocking the gate and pulling into the first Merkin Vineyard, Maynard wastes little time showing us the various grapes, picking several from the vines and handing them to us to taste. In the scorching heat, we sample more luscious specimens plucked from the canopy's glistening spider webs, with Maynard explaining the unique characteristics of each (ditat Deus- God enriches). Again, I hope there's not going to be a quiz. I'm still confused about the sedimentary layers of the Paleozoic... Fuck, Arizona's complicated. It's not just about feathered kachinas and scorpion lollipops. Complicated and hot! When's the Merkin Market going to be open? With LaraLee wearing purple flip-flops in this harsh environment, Maynard warns her to be careful as we proceed, his guests, and not one of us even a prospective sommelier!, now being shown a piece of machinery that is used to protect the vines under various climatic conditions. But not only does the extreme weather pose a problem to the crops here in Arizona. There are also vineyard pests to contend with, such as the glassy-winged sharpshooter, western grape leaf skeletonizer, and something known simply as "armed meth heads." As we head back to the Jeep to drive to Maynard's next terroir, I just know that "Phylloxera" will be on the test!

There is a modest recently-built structure on the next wing of the Merkin Vineyards - a getaway from the getaway, I suppose, and inside there's a piece of equipment that I'm very happy to see - a refrigerator, from which we're offered an icy amber treasure called beer! Although I would have settled for a shadowed arroyo, the cold bottle fits well in my hand, and should keep me good company as we head back into the trademark sunshine to sample more of the fragrantly bitter clusters of pommes bleues, and, of course, to learn a bit more about the art and science of winemaking.

"So when that Angel of the darker Drink
At last shall find you by the river-brink,
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff - - you shall not shrink."

It's late afternoon when we return to the Page Springs Cellars to check out the cavernous barrel-room where the Caduceus wines are carefully bottled and corked. Here we are given a sneak preview of things to come as Maynard finds a 'thief' with which to siphon the complex aroma directly from the aging barrels. Although I can't help but wonder about the angel's share, I don't say anything as the others are too content with the rich palate to have any concerns about a little evaporation. As we are next taken step by step through the bottling procedure, along with everything else we've seen and heard today, it's very apparent that this is not the mere indulgence of a 'rock star' with a disposable income (whatever that means). This is not Michael Jordan trying to play baseball. With his latest endeavors and a near-encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, this is obviously a true passion of Maynard's, as well as a serious business, and anyone who should ask if he is proud of his accomplishments (even at this early stage) should expect nothing less than an immediate "duh." Emerging from the bowels of the winery, I am absolutely positively certain that "anthocyanin' will be on the test...

After our little sensory evaluation in the subterranean depths, it's time for more Vinotherapy. Whether or not this next tasting assignment will be a vertical, horizontal, disguised, or other, I don't know, but it certainly is nice to be seated on the shady patio, listening to the murmur of the creek and watching the indigenous wildlife as we sample dozens of excellent wines. Soon Maynard's good friend and business associate, Eric, joins us. Speaking of indigenous wildlife, he promptly shows us where he was bitten by a spider on his leg last night. Although he doesn't think it was a Brown Recluse, with a slight discoloration to the flesh, methinks it might be the handiwork of a non-brown Arizona Recluse (there would probably be more tissue death with the brown six-eyed terror). Whatever the case, Eric shrugs it off: "Don't come here if you don't like spiders" he tells the arachnophobe (who had planned on checking out a condo in this cosmic region tomorrow). Cytotoxin being cytotoxin, let's just blame a Yellow Sac with a bolo... or rail-hopping Hobo... a big fellow in any event, and if it was in my close proximity, I'm afraid I'd have to crush it like a grape. Trying to decide if we are going to head back to Sedona before meeting up with Maynard for dinner in Jerome, due to time considerations, especially with all the road construction going on in the area (their crystals not programmed for that, I guess), the plan is to continue the tour... and tasting-flight, I hope, at Maynard's desert hideaway.

Zigzagging up Cleopatra Hill in the able Rubicon, we are afforded a spectacular view of the valley floor as we pass ramshackle buildings, museums, and rusted mining-era paraphernalia perched on a cliff alongside upscale art galleries, saloons, and trendy (though haunted) burger eateries. Once known as "the wickedest town in the west" with its brothels and opium dens, the former copper mining camp of Jerome is now an artist Mecca and picturesque tourist magnet, evident by the rainbow spectrum of SUVs parked along the steep, narrow boutique-lined streets. Within minutes of all this ghostly quaintness, we arrive at the futuristic gate of Maynard's impregnable Tabula smaragdina.

It had been many years since I had last visited the place, back in the summer of 2002 to be precise, while the Rodeo, Chedeski, and Show Low wildfires were wreaking havoc on the state, and you could still buy a loaded handgun with your twelve-pack of Coors Light at the local Circle-K. At that time, we had arranged for a geologist to perform a baseline soil analysis at various horizons on the site for potential vineyard development. While I don't exactly remember what was in the final report, evidently, with or without the addition of diffuse shade trees, there was now plenty of evidence of vinticultrural activities, and here was Maynard, one of the pioneers of the local movement, taking pre-orders for a 2006 "Primer Paso", and a new blend called "Shinola." I also remember thinking back then how he was taking himself off the grid. Now, as we pulled into the driveway and parked next to the "Merkin Mobile", a funky customized red Subaru Brat, itself parked next to an ominously dark Police Interceptor, it was apparent that there had been lots of new construction, with at least some of the additions designed to keep one comfortable in the event of a global catastrophe. In a "Bart's Comet" scenario, this wouldn't be a bad place to be, although to remain in your leather recliner swirling a glass of Penfolds you'd probably have to know the treatment for "Pierce's Disease" or something else useful. (I know, because I asked.)

With the energy of someone who didn't stay up all night watching meteors, and who was drinking water during the wine-tasting, there's no rest for the weary as Maynard takes us on yet another tour of terraced grapevines. Passing a mammoth excavator that shows only a slight layer of patina. I wonder if our host ever unearthed a skeleton with a gold Elgin octagonal pocket-watch? Climbing a somewhat treacherous hillside in the high altitude, some of us pause to catch our breath. Noticing several fairly realistic-looking fake birds flying kite-like over the netted grapevines, and realizing that they are meant to be a deterrent to natural predators, I ask their owner if any of these scaring devices are the more expensive high-tech models that actually take fake craps from time to time so as to fool any crop pests that might be suspicious. "Only one", someone replies. When I tell him that I guess that answers Omar Khayyam's question in "The Rubaiyat" when he asks: "I wonder often what the Vinters buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell." someone says that he has a couple of tarantula scaring devices on the property as well, although I can't for the life of me understand their purpose. Oh well... In that we haven't eaten all day and it's nearly sundown, perhaps we should think about rustling up some grub. I'm so hungry that I could eat the colors off a glassy-winged sharpshooter. Not to worry. I'm told that we've reservations for some gourmet fare at 8:30, which, I suppose, rules out biscuits, a can of beans, and yarns by the campfire.

Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd - - Man's forgiveness give - - and take!

"Fuckin' Garden of Eden", Maynard utters as he picks some ripe figs and then snags an apple from his little desert garden, offering the four of us a taste. But what about a fig leaf? The twilight sky baths us in an odd diffused orange and delicate cool pink glow - the perfect time to revisit 'Eschol' in Arizona - that mysterious place that "eateth the people up", although when it comes to any discussion of al-Khemical vinticulture (or esoteric oenology in 'general'), the prima material must be kept a secret, especially with all your average poke of salt and slab of bacon treasure hunters about. With that caveat, we can now enter the "Black Spot" (not unlike the one near France's La Valdieu) - a tract of land reserved for more exotic pursuits such as the potable gold in the amphora of Cleopatra, who "would drink the value of a province in one cup of wine."

Now, with regards to celestial impact sites, when emission spectroscopy for deposits of rare earth metals fails... and metal salts and black alkali just doesn't cut it alone (ala Arizona farmer David Hudson, that champion of "ghost gold" and high-spin phenomena), what is one to do? Do you take a page from Bram Stoker, recalling that the cargo of the "Demeter" consisted only of silver sand (used to polish stones!) and earth? In order to collect the Perspiration of Re-Osiris (ah, symbolic euphemisims!), on recent trips to Egypt, do you bring back some soil of Khem? Mmmm, perhaps. Why, the occult cognoscenti asks? When seeking to extract "The Jewel of Divine Anthrpophagy" (see IJYNX) used for transcending human limitations, if the cupboards of the necropolis are bare, consider the Priests of Heliopolis with their legend of the bennu-PHOENIX, that mythical creature with a brilliant plumage who, when NOT bearing its predecessor embalmed in a ball of myrrh, RISES from the ASHES. If that's just a trifle ambiguous, then pour yourself a sweet Cypriot Commandaria substitute. As it is, I'm bound to keep my fig leaf firmly in place (in the parlance of the trade). Otherwise, like some of those gold-crazed wanderers before me, I might just find myself committed to an asylum...

"Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit."

The five of us arrive for what promises to be some fine dining at "Asylum", a restaurant "on the fringe" in Jerome's Grand Hotel that used to be an insane asylum during the mining boom, and is thus believed by locals to be haunted. I don't know about any spooks, but it seems possible that at least one former patient was never released, seeing that there is a pastrami salad on the menu. With Jeromites, I might have expected a pipe organ cactus salad, but pastrami, that is on the fringe, if not the opalescent mist of the endomatrix!

After we are seated, it doesn't take long for the wine to flow. Not just wine. Not just boutique wine... but wine ordered by a winemaker. As they are decanted by the resident sommelier, I order some "Hippie Humus" and a bottle of flat water, knowing that it's going to be a long night. As more wines are swirled and sipped, Maynard's lady friend finally arrives, a lovely thing from Sedona who toys with the idea of ordering the roasted butternut squash soup. With some eclectic appetizers, the bottles keep coming. At one point, along with a bewildering mass of food, I count 29 wine glasses on the table. Maynard even orders a mesquite bacon-wrapped Filet Mignon dinner (besides his other dinner) just so that each of us can have a bite to go with a particular vintage (for comparison purposes). Looking for any evidence that the place is indeed haunted, such as someone drinking a fruity Bartles & James cooler in one of the framed Wine Spectator Magazine photos hanging on the walls, as the waiter deftly cuts the Filet into the required number of pieces, a slice of meat mysteriously falls onto the floor. Seeing this, the head of the table quickly reaches down and picks it up, popping it into his mouth, afterwards claiming that it was well within the range of the 5-second rule. Could we actually be seated with the decoy MJK, I wonder? Or is the cabernet demi-glaze just that good? Either way, the cuddly dillo is duly impressed, as are we all.

At Maynard's request, the waiter brings a photograph that was recently taken by a customer. To some this would clearly seem to show a ghostly apparition - perhaps a misty white-uniformed nurse from when the place was a laughing academy. After examining it, I'm a bit skeptical, although I must admit that the clock in the background, with its hands frozen on the stroke of midnight, makes for a nice added touch. Sorry, but I'm not one of those alfalfa sprouts who buys into the whole ghost town thing. I am, however, enjoying the salty texture and conversation of colorful locals who have stopped by to meet us Californians with "all our orange trees," even though at times it's hard to hear them over all the coughing of miners...

With our bellies filled with king crab, lobster, and Sonoran spicy chicken, and our tongues stained a hideous purple, Maynard discreetly gestures for the check. Somehow noticing this, Danny insists on paying the National Debt, claiming that his band mate always gets it. After going back and forth for several minutes, with my spectator's heart pounding in anticipation, Maynard finally allows Danny to 'win', but only this one time.

"The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute:"

Seated comfortably in a lawn chair on Maynard's deck, I'm handed a bottle of water as I gaze up at patches of the sparkling night sky, hoping to catch the tail end of the Perseids. The water is to cleanse one's palate, I'm warned, glancing over to see some wine breathing in a decanter only a few feet away. I tell LaraLee that she might as well hang up her saddle and stay a spell. It appears that this tasting flight is far from over. As coyotes howl off in the distance (finally), and we attempt to put a dent in the fabled wine cellar (hardly!), before each pour of the liquid that flames and dances within its crystal bounds (to almost quote Milton), there is a brief introduction, if you will, relating to our host's personal appreciation of the particular vintage. This is, at times, analytical, at others philosophical, especially when it comes to a commentary of the diverse characteristics and range of perceived flavors.

As the night unfolds, some of these descriptions become quite baffling to me. For example, while I get "smoky", "chocolate", "tobacco", "figs", "plums" and "blueberry", or even "well-worn velvet" and a freakin' "Daicon radish", it's another thing to identify among the rich palate flavors such as "rubber feet", "Jimmy Dean pork sausage", "cartoon vitamins", and "the reverse side of a 1938 Mercury Head dime."

When not discussing the primordial DNA of wine-grapes, mapped genes, or the complexity of that stuff in a swirled glass, the singer begins to talk about the band, both Puscifer and Tool, using Danny as a sounding board for some ideas that he has, including a rather unique approach to touring in the future. Of course any privileged information relating to this can't be divulged - one could say that it is protected by a fiery-eyed chupacabra (in this case, one that affects one's memory).

Now that it's getting late and the girls are tired, once Danny is good to go (with a little help from a colossal espresso machine), we decide to head back to our resort in Sedona. Even though he has to get up at 5:30 in the morning to pick grapes (knowing that he will be "a wounded Vino soldier", as he wrote in his on-line journal), Maynard urges us to wait a bit longer, and to drink some more... water. This is probably a good idea considering the sheriff with his breathalyzer, hand-cuffs, and fire ants... Wait a minute, wrong county. Even so, you wouldn't want to have a Daicon radish on your breath...

"And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again."

The next day, Maynard's not the only wounded Vino soldier. Squinting in the afternoon sun, Danny and I take our auras to the tourist trap section of Sedona, where Pink Jeeps, Kokopelli, and alien herbal therapy are easier to find than a pack of Macanudo cigars. Debating whether or not to seek the help of a psychic on this matter in one of a dozen or so pastel-colored crystal emporiums, we finally locate a shop that has them for three times the going rate. But with kaleidoscopic rock formations in the background, that only seems fair. After picking up some specialty salsas for tonight's sauce-painted carne, and, strangely enough, a few local wines, somewhat more centered now, it's back to the road construction, having escaped without so much as botanical soy candle.

With a fantastic view of the red rock sentinels, when not pondering the concept of ear coning, I spend the rest of the day looking over my notes... There's Maynard and Eric's upcoming wine signing hosted by Arizona Stronghold Vineyards at Whole Foods market locations in California, Nevada, and Arizona... Chupacabra and other Caduceus wines... "Now what was that that Maynard said about being inspired to write music... recording some stuff on Garage Band?" Having recognized the spot where he recently took a hammer to his laptop, I can't help but wonder if anyone has even faintest clue as to what I was referring to when I told them to be patient... that good things are coming? "Obviously not, judging by all the e-mail that I've received." Then there's the whole Guitar Hero thing that's still to come... "Is it time to dust off the Ouija Board and attempt to contact Bill Hicks?" "Yes, I think so..." Wait a minute, BMB, don't forget your rule: it's alright to ask yourself a question... even out loud... but you never answer yourself... out loud...

And then I come to those magic words: Veni vidi vici... Time for more neurological pondering of that man of mystery, the prospector James Kidd, who vanished in 1949, never to be seen or heard from again. With regards to the "Pandora's Box" containing stock certificates and his strange will involving a considerable fortune for "research or some scientific proof of a soul of the human body which leaves at death", recalling the catchy advertising slogan: "When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen", I turn my attention to the legendary lost Dutchman mine in Arizona's foreboding Superstition Mountains, where many believe the loner Kidd found the source of his wealth (if not from a mining claim in the nearby Pinals).

While cynical lost mine buffs doubt there ever was a mother-lode, as is believed to be hidden near a hat-shaped peak called the "Sombrero" (now "Weaver's Needle"), and that the Dutchman's rich strike was, in fact, gold high-graded from another source, namely the "Vulture Mine", over the years, if not going stark raving mad, many have met with death in search of it. Random beheadings and the occasional bullet hole through the temple only add to the mystique, but these violent deaths, aside from being a warning to any would-be claim jumpers, could also be seen as directional signals. The "strange disaster stalks this awesome place" is reminiscent of a place in another region where mysterious signs and cryptic references are said to indicate the location of a fabulous treasure... a place where there is both lust for gold and the soul... and whose unbelievable riches continue to taunt those seekers...

Here, where one can wipe up spilled Colloidal silver with astrological-chart paper towels, I won't ask you to follow a crudely-drawn waybill or some treasure map divulged from a deathbed, but should you astral project yourself onto a lonely trail where granite outcroppings reflect the broiling sun, or around a crackling fire surrounded by ghostly saguaro under the cosmos, keeping in mind that some of Kidd's companions were Harvard and Stanford graduates, is it the slightest bit conceivable that there is a connection involving one of life's deepest puzzles between the quiet, solitary prospector, who, in a diner always ate the cheapest thing on the menu and never left a tip, and the bombastic priest of Rennes-le-Chateau who was known for his lavish lifestyle? And if so, could it have been through an intermediary from the Pyrenees named Eusbio Castelar, who, along with an esoteric society, provided the prospector with the proof he so eagerly desired? And with these astonishing revelations, did Kidd, in turn, leave clues in a Last Will and Testament that was scrawled on a sheet of ledger paper? Contemplating the idea of a photograph of the soul leaving a human at death, once again, I think about the photo of Kidd with "a quizzical, enigmatic half-smile" that was found in the unclaimed safe deposit box. Never left a tip... Nice one. I then make a mental note to stop at Stalz's drug store in downtown Phoenix... but, upon further consideration, I decide that it's probably no longer there...

photo by Maynard James Keenan (obviously)

Quotes from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam

HAPPY TRAILS

"Vineyard owners Maynard James Keenan and Eric Glomski kick off signings of 2007 Arizona Stronghold "Tazi," "Mangus," and "Nachise" beginning Sept. 16 in Pasadena."

"Cornville, Ariz., Aug. 7 - Arizona Stronghold Vineyard vintners Maynard James Keenan (Caduceus Cellars/Merkin Vineyards owner and front man for Tool and Puscifer) and Eric Glomski (Page Springs Cellars) will host, in conjunction with Whole Foods Market, a series of bottle signings beginning Sept. 16 in Pasadena, Calif. The pair will be signing bottles of the debut 2007ASV releases as well as the 2006 Merkin Vineyards Chupacabra, and a handful of Keenan's Caduceus wines."

Dates and locations for the signings are:

September 17 4:30 - 7:30 pm Venice, CA (225 Lincoln Blvd at Rose)
October 21 5-9 PM Tustin, CA
(Jamboree and Barranca Pkway at the Districtat Tustin Legacy)
22 5-9 PM West Los Angeles, CA (11666 National Blvd. at Barrington)
November 4 4:30 - 7:30 pm Henderson/Las Vegas, NV (100 S. Green Valley Pkwy)
6 5-9 pm San Diego, CA (8825 Villa La Jolla Dr. at Nobel)
December 2 9 am - 12 pm Fairfax/Los Angeles, CA (6350 W. 3rd St. at Fairfax)
3 4:30 - 7:30 pm El Segundo, CA (760 S. Sepulveda Blvd. at Rosecrans)
9 4:30 - 7:30 pm Las Vegas, NV (6689 Las Vegas Blvd. S. at Sunset Rd.
in Town Square Las Vegas)
10 4:30 - 7:30 pm Chandler, AZ (2955 W. Ray Rd. at the 101)
11 4:30 - 7:30 pm Scottsdale, AZ 7111 E. Mayo Blvd. at Scottsdale Blvd.
15 4:30 - 7:30 pm Scottsdale, AZ (8688 E. Raintree Dr. at the 101)

About Arizona Stronghold Vineyards

"ASV lies at the eastern edge of Sulfur Springs Valley, in Cochise County (alongside the Wilcox Playa) in a small, unincorporated area known as the Kansas Settlement. The vineyard site is 80 acres with 66 acres currently under vine. Co-owned by Eric Glomski (Page Springs Cellars) and Maynard James Keenan (Caduceus Cellars/Merkin Vineyards), ASV's mission is to present affordable top quality Arizona wine made by passionate Arizona based winemakers. Keenan says of the vineyard, "One of our many goals here in Arizona is to establish a cornerstone around which locally owned and operated, sustainable and organic industries can thrive."

ALOKE will also be teaching TABLA to a limited number of students while in Denver. Please contact David Miller at katalystmusic3@yahoo.com for more information.

www.collide.net

"Hugely popular alternative metal band Tool, known for their epic, intense musical arrangements and killer visual arts, will also soon be known for their contribution to the upcoming Guitar HeroŽ World Tour. Guitar Hero fans from all over the world will be able to rock out to "Parabola" and Grammy-award winning "Schism" from Tool's critically-acclaimed 2001 album Lateralus in addition to "Vicarious" from their 2006 Grammy-award winning album 10,000 Days. The game will also feature an all-new venue designed in collaboration with the band and highlighting the art style that has become a staple in their music videos, live shows and album artwork."

THE BAKED POTATO
3787 CAHUENGA BLVD., WEST
STUDIO CITY, CA. 91604

photo by Maynard James Keenan

photo by Camella Grace

photo by MJK

Angels on the sideline.
Puzzled and amused.
Why did daddy give these humans free will?
Now they're all confused.

Don't these talking monkeys know that Eden has enough to around?
Plenty in this holy garden,
Silly monkeys, where there's one you're bound to divide it right in two.

Angels on the sideline.
Baffled and confused.
Father blessed them all with reason.
And this is what they choose?

Monkey killing monkey killing monkey over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys. Give them thumbs, they forge a blade,
and where there's one they're bound to divide it right in two.

Monkey killing monkey killing monkey over pieces of the ground...
Silly monkeys Give them thumbs, they make a club to beat their brother down.
How they've survived so divided is a mystery.
Repugnant is a creature who would squander his ability to lift an eye to heaven,
conscious of his fleeting time here.

Gotta divide it all right in two.

Fight till they die over sun, over sky
They fight till they die over sea, over air
They fight till they die over blood, over love,
They fight till they die over words, polarizing.

Angels on the sideline again.
Benched along with patience and reason.
Angels on the sideline again.
Wondering when this tug of war will end.

WORDS
By

MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN

Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard playing the MANDALA at the DARK KNIGHT PREMIERE in New York.

THE BAKED POTATO
3787 CAHUENGA BLVD., WEST
STUDIO CITY, CA. 91604

UPDATE - Looks like Crisis Cocktails and Green Demons (Danny style) after 10:00 PM. We hope to see you there.

In other Isis-related news, drummer AARON HARRIS recently played on, engineered, and mixed a record for a band called "ZOZOBRA." The record comes out AUGUST 5th on HYDRAHEAD RECORDS, but you can pre order it HERE and hear samples of it HERE

Track-list:

1. Testament
2. Element
3. Godeater
4. Dark Awakening
5. Ash
6. Of Eons
7. Prime [Aversion]
8. Er Ub Us

ARTWORK BY ADAM JONES

For those interested there is a limited shirt and hoodie available until July 17th with pre-orders.

LINKS:

Direct pre-order purchase LINK

Direct iTunes LINK

Lustmord SITE

Lustmord MySpace

This August, Camella's sister Debbie and her son Nick (one of the stars of the Tool newsletter for May!) will be taking part in the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's Ride to Cure Diabetes in Asheville, NC along with hundreds of other Riders across the country. Their goal: To raise $3.2 million to help fund research for a cure for type 1 diabetes and its complications. As Debbie notes in her email: "Many people think type 1 diabetes can be controlled by insulin. While insulin does keep people with type 1 diabetes alive, it is NOT a cure. Aside from the daily challenges of living with type 1 diabetes, there are many severe, often fatal, complications caused by the disease. That's the bad news... and yes, it's pretty bad. The good news, though, is that a cure for type 1 diabetes is within reach. In fact, JDRF funding and leadership is associated with most major scientific breakthroughs in type 1 diabetes research to date. And JDRF funds a major portion of all type 1 diabetes research worldwide, more than any other charity. Please visit my Ride Web Page if you would like to donate online or see how close I am to reaching my personal goal. Follow this link to make a donation." Thank you for your support!

Also, a friendly reminder that VOLTO! (DANNY CAREY, JOHN Z, KIRK COVINGTON and LANCE MORRISON) will be playing at the LA VE LEE JAZZ CLUB on JULY 16 (12514 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, CA. 91604 - 818-980-8158). We hope to see you there!

I would also like to remind those who are interested that DAILY GRAIL PUBLISHING has recently released a new HARDCOVER EDITION of my book, IJYNX (Blair MacKenzie Blake), and copies of this "Grand Dreaming of a Treasured Eye" can also be ordered via AMAZON US or AMAZON UK

In addition to these books, I'm pleased to report that DARKLORE VOL 2 is currently in preparation and should be available soon!

For my 8-year anniversary of the Toolband.com/Toolarmy.com newsletter, rather than explore a possible connection between the massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane in France in June of 1944 and a legendary hijacked treasure associated with the mystery surrounding Rennes-le-Chateau, let's see what the band members are up to these days, for