I am afraid that my codriver is not ready for the fame that awaits him on the other side of the world. I don't think the author of "So Many Whales" and "Smile for a Friend" has any sense of the magnitude of international adoration he can expect. I fear that such a simple fellow may not respond well to the hordes of fans that we may encounter.
With anyone who has not heard his brilliant tunes soon to experience them at 146 decibels from our 1000cc guitar amplifier, I worry the onset of global fame may catapult Patrick into the stratosphere of megalomaniacal lunacy. And how do I as his observer, scribe and driver respond to the rapid expansion of Patrick's popularity and ego? How might the Dr. Watson of roadies aid the Sherlock Holmes of indie rock? At what point does a bizarre desert betrayal by one's close friend become a more compelling narrative than the ascension into perpetual, media-driven stardom? Does the end of a man breathe eternal life into his music, or can man and music exist simultaneously? Should they? Are we the jungle or is the jungle we?
What purpose does our slow, winding progress across the serpentine roads of Asia serve? Many from Don Delillo to Joseph Conrad caution that such journeys are fraught with the perils held within our psyches. When should literary men fear experience? Should men of action fear their own will?
I'm open to suggestions or counsel on this matter.