HIGHER INTELLIGENCE IS US IN THE FUTUREAN ACT OF SPONTANEOUS DANCING IS GOOD FOR THE SOULAldous Huxley: (Brave New World Revisited):Big Government and Big Business ... will try to impose social and cultural uniformity upon adults and their children. To achieve this they will (unless prevented) make use of all the mind-manipulating techniques at their disposal and will not hesitate to reinforce these methods of non-rational persuasion by economic coercion and threats of physical violence. If this kind of tyranny is to be avoided, we must begin without delay to educate ourselves and our children for freedom and self-government. Such an education for freedom should be ... first of all in facts and in values — the facts of individual diversity and genetic uniqueness and the values of freedom, tolerance and mutual charity, which are the ethical corollaries of these facts.You are standing on a vast plain, a dreamscape, if you will. Something appears on the horizon moving rapidly towards you. The sky above is the color and texture of a television set tuned to a dead station. Blue gray colors whirl towards you. Something else is approaching. A series of objects, at first blury , then they start to define themselves becomming clearer. Structures loom up and pass, strange music plays and inticate patterns dance about you, flickering before your eyesEver since I can remember I have been fascinated by the ocean, drawn to it, the smell ,the sound and the movement of the sea is pure magic and wonder to me. The quality of light in the sky, the rhythm of the waves making love to the shore beats a sort of time, a time that has no urgency, a timeless time that has been playing fo millions of years and when I have to get away from it all I go down to the ocean and wash away all the wrongs from life away. There is simplly nothing better then to sit for hours with nothing in sight but the sea and sky. A close second is storm walking, once I took a walk with a lover in the rain, thunder and lightening around us and we stopped, embraced and kissed, a frozen moment in time: nature puts on the best shows: I like that mystery, that passion, it reminds one that life is profound and meant to be lived to the fullest or not at all...so what intresest me:LOVE. Shoud it be defined or is that reductive, can you really describe the indescribable? I want to be able to listen to that inner voice because when you don't listen to that inner voice you are not listening to your own wisdon, you are becoming insensitive, and insensitivey leads to lies, hatred and destruction and you become incapable of love. I've seen this happen, people who can't trust their own wisdom, and people who can't trust thier own wisdom can't love, they can't even trust themselves to go to sleep, they take pills to put themselves to sleep, pills to wake themselves up they use artificial ways to produce a false love, they seperate sex from emotion and love, reducing sex to a commodity thus becoming robots, devoid of what John Lennon calls 'real love,' they become progressively incapable of love and they create turmoil and misunderstanding and chaos in themselves and others,:yes I know that when you dance with the earth, the stars, the ocean, the pulse of the universe, you also dance with Shivea. But what would you rather have, a human race which isn't very well under contorl, conventional, but for the most part if full of wonder, delight, love and honesty, in tune with its self, unselfish and caring or a planet that is devoid of love, blown to peieces and cleansed of life...yeah, what interests me... I wonder............Maybe This: Your laughter sounds like crystal breeze, your kisses get me high, quiet and still in the dark I dream of butterflys....maybe it's all a dream: When I experimented with John Lilly's isolation tank in conjucntion with some mind altering chemicals it seemed so....so let's make it a good dream instead of a nightmere and remember: To reject one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experience is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less a denial of the soul DO ROCK ON...."Too much of everything is just enough,...I need dynamite to get me off," Here are two short films I made...One is for Slinkster Cool with music arranged and played by me: the other was an experiment I did while working on the the official 'Bukowsik short'with weird music: same message though....... width="425" height="350" .. .. width="425" height="350" .. ....Thanks R....
Stuff for your blog!
.... .. src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e169/christopint/medm j.gif" border="0" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting" .. src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e169/christopint/post erJerry.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"POET and Experimenter 'Slinkster Cool,' aka Jacksonhttp://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.
viewprofile&friendid=54863810Buddha, Jesus, Lao Tse, Gandhi,Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Mary Magdalin, Sappho, Shelly, Mary Shelly, Mary Wolsontecraft,Werner Heisenberg, Albert Einstein, Niels Bohr, Carl Sagen, Jerry Garcia, John Lennon, Kathern the Great, Death, God etc. have Owsely furnish the acid, Guiness the Beer, a little Scotch and have a party...you're invited too and bring Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jerry Garcia and a wall of sound .. Hosting" src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e169/christopint/DMO7
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top: 0px;" border="0" DAVID LYNCH HAS SOMKETHING TO SAY
For a great many years, as a soldier, I had a suspicion that war was a racket; not until I retired to civil life did I fully realize it. Now that I see the international war clouds gathering, as they are today, I must face it and speak out. I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service. I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912 (where have I heard that name before?). I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested.
During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.
MONEY HONEY NOTICE how the top dollar is very big...that is from 1923...that's is why they called it a bill fold...you had to fold your money...look real close at the middle dollar and you will notice that it says silver certificate: that's right you used to be able to go to a bank and demand a dollars worth of silver...that's when money was worth something...the minute that JFK was assinated we went off the Gold and Silver standard and now our monopoly money says 'note' on it...I think that means worthless...also another curious fact: Irish hero and revolutionary Micahel Collins and JFK were assinated in the exact same way and the route plans were exactly the same...I have no idea what the hell that means...curioser and curiouser! a href="http://www.myspace.com/six" target="_blank" Recently I took up oil painting after damaging my left hand in an accident...so: href="http://photobucket.com/" target="_blank".. src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e169/christopint/pain tingsetc0132.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting" .. src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e169/christopint/refe rmadness.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"
Tragedy is passion alone yet it seems in America most people are alone. The system is efficient at making people that way, slaves to the vulgar of crass commercialism and cheap cliches, illusions and distractions or maybe I'm just weired differently. I should be extremal depressed yet often I find myself descending into a state of complete lunacy. And when this happens I find that I have to edit myself, which I really detest. I imagine my weird sense of humor mixed with existential angst started when I was very young. My parents were typical of the sort of 1950s America which was more or less a misty, vapor that never existed. Americans love illusion. The president can be a complete scumbag but they imagine him to somehow be an honorable man who is well intentioned . Across the street from me lived an architect named Larry. Larry was what used to be called a 'beat nick.' He had a statue of Buddha in his back yard, a swimming pool that was designed to look like a grotto and was friends with Jack Kerouac. As a very young child I would go over to swim in the pool as the adults drank. Later, in the evening, Larry would show us movies of his 'beat nick' friends. Some of them must have come over though the only memory I have is of a women with long dark hair and an Italian accent. Too young to even read I took only the notice that these people were different yet later I became infatuated with the possibilities of a counter culture life style. I suppose at this point I also began to take notice of music. Surf music , surf culture was extremely popular when I was young and California was not overcrowded as it is now. Twangy guitars could be heard drifting though summer nights and there was a feeling of freedom and experimentation. Larry moved out of his house and rented it to a group of musicians. I haven't been the same sense. Sometimes music and books are my best friends..."dance on fire as it intends"......"People who use formula things on the audience are basically manipulating them in the same sense that fascism manipulates people"-Jerry Garcia- .. width="425" height="350" .. .. width="425" height="350" .. It is well known that the music you listen to when you are an adolescent, first love, first sexual experience etc. always stays with you because it opens up certain nerual circuits of your brain. This effects the way music is marketed because the bussiness men who control the music industry for the most part, are cynical bastards and they are more intersted in trends and fashion then in music. They want you to consume music as if it were a can of soup and they will tell you what is trendy and cool so that for them music becomes a fasistic medium. That's why when a band like, say, the Romones comes along in an organic sense, that is, the music industry didn't invent them and they predated the term punk, no one new how to market them. I have followed a life pattern of rejevenation so that I have gone trough adolescence many times and I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to muscians, poets, painters and writers at each stage of the game. Music is powerful because it unlocks a powerful access code...a Big Circuit of your brain...your sexuality and your spirituality...it should represent freedom, an alternative to today's restricted world we live in. So what music do I like? Eclectic to say the least...so much music nowadays seems to be generic, a copy of things that went before, well worn chord changes and wretched cliches...even so called alternative is starting to sound like template, elevator music, plugged into the Bank of America and gee whiz I hope we become famous someday for plundering dead rock stars...really, I once heard a guy say he wanted to be a rock star, like it was an alternative to being an accountant or a lawyer , or something...guess he didn't know that we are living in a postpunkmodernist world.. never the less...here goes: as far as recent stuff goes I like the White Stripes and the Killers , Death Cab for Cutie, but I also like the Chieftians, Davey Spilane, Gaelic Storm, Planxty,Wolfe Stone, The Young Dubliners (I really dig the celtic rock scene) and Jimi Hendrix,Eric Clapton, Miles Davis...guess I'm an iconoclast 'cause I don't care what is popular... I like Thelonious Monk,Ray Charles, Jimmy Smith, Charles Mingus, Count Basie (best rhythem section,ever) Lester Young, Billie Holliday, The Neveiile Brothers, The Tempatations, James Brown, Marvin Gay, Sam and DAve, The Allman brothers,the Rollong Stones,Charlie Christian, Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Wes Montgomery,Ornete Colman, Sun Ra,John McLaughlin, Weather Report, Tuck and Patti,Tal Farlow, Bach,Metalica, Guns and Roses, and Mozart, Charlie Parker, Django Reinhardt,Albert Lee and all the blue grass pickers like Doc WAtson, Tony Rice etc al and Ornett Coleman, Stiff Little Fingers and the Sex Pistols, The TAlking Heads, Blondie, the Grateful Dead (Dead 73 Live was really amazing) the Pogues, Shane McGowan, Syd Barrette, The Pink Floyd, Skip Spence, Moby Grape, Phish, Jeff Beck and Frank Zappa, The Who ,Moe, Neil YOung, and Government Mule, the Ominous Seapods, Derek Trucks and Robert Johnson,The Doors ,Johnny Cash, Hank Williams and some of the old rockabilly stuff Cliff Gallup, Danny Gatton... Candy Kane and Etta James,a lot of the old psychedelic bands, like Rocky Erickson and the 13th Floor Elevators, and early punks, pranksters and hell raisers, Albert King, BB King, Willie Dixon ,and lots of the old blues guys and girls, THE BEATLES , the Kinks, and the Yardbirds, John Lennon, Jerry GArcia and Bob Weir, and Bob Marley, and Bob Dylan, David Grisman, Larry Coryell, Stan Getz, the Water boys, Booker T and the Mgs,Afro Celt Sound System,Spirit, Rolond Kirk,I like some film score music, DAnny Ellman, like blue grass and the String Cheese Incident... and of course, Natural Urge...a band that was, well banned world wide and all of their music confiscated by various corporate, intellegecne agencies and the members assassinated by a corperate group of spys, filth and facisists who took their instructions from books, street signs, films or agents who proported to be and may actually have been members of the Thought Police ... control agents who felt that 'Natural Urges' s message that the world needed to be changed because something was horribly wrong and that it was time for all of the leaders to get a report card...the Grade was F...they really challenged the system and now there is hardly a record of their existence...most if not all of their music has been destroyed by illluminati members and their fans have been systematically hunted down and have had their minds wiped leaving no memory of the band nor its message...but forget that I mentioned them...I didn't! YOu don't want to hear this band because you will collapse into some kind of hysterical DTs until men in black come by, zip you up in a straitjacket and drag you down into some dark and dank cell and beat you on the kidneys with big night sticks until you straighten out and vote for Bush. Tell no one you've read this or even acknowledge that you've heard of this band....you didn't Just say no to a FAscist Amerika A nice picture gone and runied by being signed by John, Paul, George and Ringo...
MAKE YOUR OWN DAMN MOVIEIlluminated Angel illuminated Angel dancin' neath the trees Swinging in the sunshine, blowing in the breeze Illuminated Angel coming to me.....coming forth To carry me home Spring, Summer, Solstice, Volcano creates the light Alabama Whiskey song playing through the night Playing in the band and the rain is pouring down Think I've had enough 'cause I'm headed outta town Weariness is wicked you make me think of blue Gonna stop and sleep but I'm gonna dream of you Descended to deep , now I'm walking toward the light Wish I'd brought dark glasses 'cause it's getting pretty bright Illuminated Angel Dancing 'neath the trees Swinging in the Sunshine, blowing in the breeze Illuminated Angel Coming for me...coming forth to carry me home. Heroic is a life but a poet's gotta pay gotta pocket full of cash Now it's time we flew away Held hands with you and we headed toward the sun Our wings done melted and so we hit the ground China Cat, Glass Cat...Whiskey in the jar...must've gone somewhere Cause we traveled pretty far...yes we traveled pretty far Illuminated Angel with your halo all askew T ornadoes don't stop so why should me and you Propelled by passion, I know you got the nerve Hang on tight here comes another curve........... Illuminated Angel...............Guardian Angel Coming' forth to carry me home.........to carry me home Spring, Summer, solstice, Volcano creates the light Alabama whiskey song plying' through the night Playin' in the band and the rain is pouring down think I'll have some more...yes pour another 'round Yes pour another round...and one for the house ... Good Bye Sweet Angel........See yuh on the other side!To Jeannette, Cassidy,Hunter, Jerry and Ken
Life is not always party (well, not always) it's sometimes a struggle but just sitting around thinking about it negates it...you really need to just live, that really is the meaning of life, to live it with peace and grace... There was this book I struggled to read called 'Finnegan's Wake," and there was one part of it I remember though I might have some of it wrong,"Oh lord, heap mysteries upon us, but entwine or lives with laughter and love," or as Jerry Garcia used to say, ""I want life to surprise me" I like that because sometimes we surprise each other and that is so beautiful: I really do believe there is a metaphysical aspect for love and friendship. This has nothing to do with television...I'm bad at following rulesAhh yes, Television, the opiate of the masses with its banal plots, hypnotically drugging us into states of clumsy consumerism, caterwauling crap with its nonexistent morality and hypocrisy, promising us everything from sexual ecstasy to psychological manipulation of the masses (which it does very well) and delivering us demonologies, escapist shadows, addictive electrical gibberish for fools, morons, drunkards, drug addicts, Doctors, Lawyers, thieves ,leaders and followers and genesis's...we all like TV..it's good entertainment and we don't have to think because someone else is doing it for us: it's perfect for dictators and we all will love our back biting, corrupt, cynical leaders who line their pockets with our hard earned money while we stare into that box..we lover our servitude and freedom is slavery...yeah...I watch TV...I kinda like 'Lost," and 'The Simpson's! and old episodes of the 'Twilight Zone," and DVDs of "Buffy the vampire slayer." and the 'X files," other then that TVs make a fine flat service for setting things on top of like whiskey bottles or maybe even rolling cigarettes (wink, wink, nudge, nudge,) + I hear they make a splendid sound when they are thrown out of windows and smashed to the pavement below!...Wow, let's do it .. Playing in a Pub Band at Limericks...that's Ed Bell, actor from 'Married with Children?' (I don't watch TV much... he was playing the Irish frame drum (bodhran) and had a great booming voice! Yes, that's me with the guitar and a pint in front of me...lots of pints...Now speaking of Television I hap pend up this at Psychedelic Box profile and it's just too freaking' cool...Groucho Marx and Lord Bucklyhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qh_68zvtk8c&eurl=
a href="http://photobucket.com/" target="_blank" Lao Tsu,Joyce Carol Oates,Issac Asimov, Ray Bradbury,Harlen Ellison,Charles Bukowski, Ted Strugon,Spider Robinson, , Sylvia Plath, Harold Pinter,Henry Miller, Colin Wilson, Rudy Rucker, Camille Paglia, Jack London, Jack Kerouac, Ken Kesey, Philip K. Dick, Joseph Campbell, Edger Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Clarke Ashton Smith, Anne Rice, Raymond Chandler, Dashell Hammett, Jean Paul Sartre, Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking, Lord Byron, Mary Shelly, Percy Shelly, John Keats, Ralph Waldo, Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman,Hunter S. Thompson, Timothy Leary, John Gardner, John Barth, Robert Graves, Erica Jong, James Morrow,Kurt Vonnegut Jr.,John Fante, George Orwell, William S. Burroughs,L. Frank Baum, Dr. Seuss, Lewis Caroll,Jorge Luis Borges, Aldous Huxley, Brendan Behan, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Y.B. Yeas, Emily Dickinson, Robert Browning, Emily Bronte, David Icke, Jean Baudrillard, Noam Chomsky,Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,Samuel Johnson, William Gibson,J. R.R. Tolkien,,Clive Barker, William Blake, H. G. Wells, John Stienbeck, Carl Jung, John C. Lilly, T.S. Eliot, Sappho, Anais Nin,Hermann Hesse, Thomas Mann, Albert Camus Douglas Adams, Richard Matheson, Stephen King, Baudelaire, Frank McCourt, Seamus Heaney...I love to read books on archeology, philosophy, mysticism , musical criticism, and am fond of anything on Celtic history, books on Welsh or Irish,or Scotts' history. I enjoy reading books about Science and the paranormal, particularly books written by Colin Wilson: The “Occult:†Wilson's overview of this subject, appropriately entitled The Occult, is still recognized as being a classic in the field. Many of Wilson's books deal with mysticism in its many forms, particularly in how the mystical experience and the peak experience relate to each other. As Wilson has observed, "Any system of values must ultimately be mystical." In terms of the broader range of paranormal experience, Colin’s two recent Atlantis books, From Atlantis to the Sphinx and The Atlantis Blueprint, are among his most important works, "Poltergeist," is also a very interesting book. I also must plug Micky Heat's book on drumming...it really is a must for anyone who appreciates the arts and not just the art of drumming...
NEVER MIND THAT...THIS IS MORE FUN Yes, I did write a story for this particular publication and have been given the prestigious award for writing one of the weirdest underground comix ever: here is the scenario:The Key Of 'D' For Death", written by Christo and drawn by. Jensen. - While a series of drug-related deaths occur among Hollywood's rock 'n' roll community, private eye (and Humphrey Bogart lookalike) Sam Spoon celebrates his last case ("The Wasted Wind") with a snootful of nose candy. Suddenly, he's interrupted by a Yoko Ono lookalike named Kyoto, who offers Sam a check for $5 million if he can solve the "rock deaths" and her late husband's murder. Delighted, Sam accepts the case, and soon, he's leaning heavily upon rock-hating TV evangelist "Little Rudi" Tootie, a Little Richard lookalike. With Rudi pleading ignorance, and needing another, bigger lead, Sam goes undercover as a session musician for Wanda R. Willin and her punk band, the Vegematics (a take-off on the Plasmatics and Wendy O. Williams). While watching the semi-nude punk diva go through her gyrations, Sam gets so excited that he sets the crotch of his pants on fire! While Sam puts out the fire, he meets Razberry Tart, a cute recruiter for the Cartel Records company, who wants to sign him up for a cool $5 million. Before you can say "Don Kirschner", Sam and his band, the Hardboiled Dicks, are on the record charts with a bullet, wallowing platinum records, cheap broads and expensive booze as "Dickmania" sweeps the nation. But when one of Sam's bandmates discovers that someone has hot-wired his mike with 100,00 volts of electricity, Sam "convinces" one of his roadies to spill the beans - it was Razberry Tart! Late that night, Sam infiltrates the towering headquarters of Cartel Records. In its basement, he discovers a huge mound of cocaine, surrounded by mechanized "vacuum straws" that lead up to the studio's executive offices. Sam allows himself to be sucked up inside one of the giant straws - which leads directly to Razberry Tart's office, where he finds the recording recruiter conspiring with "Little Rudi" Tootie. Sam pulls his gun on her, but Razberry pulls an invoice on him: "It's a bill for $15 million to cover travel, advertising, equipment and other band expenses. I might cut it in half if you forget about this indiscretion!" Balking, Sam hesitates, and even much later, the poverty-stricken private dick is still trying to understand Cartel's fiendishly creative accounting practices. And to add insult to injury, Cartel closed out his record album, TUMESCENT, dumping it on the market as a 79? cut-out! I'll dig up the book and put some of the art work up someday! NOtes to myself: I think that we recognize that in our own depths we possess enormous reserves of strength of which we are normally totally unaware. This is what fascinates me. This is obviously what happened to the romantics. They just had these bubbling experiences of power coming up from their own depths, and were startled by this. And what's more interesting, I've noticed again and again when you experience a sense of power coming from your own depths, you are likely to feel that in some way it's coming from the external universe, because it so transforms the universe -- like Van Gogh's vision of the starry night, with all the stars turning into great whirlpools of force and the trees looking as if they're flames rising toward the sky -- it so transforms it that it appears to be an external vision. Of course all that's happening, so to speak, is that you are glowing with light that transforms the external universe. So in all the mystics you get this strange thing. They say the inner becomes the outer, and the outer becomes the inner -- it's characteristic of all the mystical experiences, that. And then, as soon as I began to see this, that it is a matter of sort of inner strength, I became extremely interested in this problem. The question I asked myself was, how then could you create the peak experience at will? Because obviously, if you want to compare that with what you might call the depth experience, the depression, somehow you've got to create them and put them side by side so you can see them side by side, and you see which is higher than the other. Well, I talked to Maslow about this, and Maslow said, "It's impossible. You can't do it. The peak experience comes when it wants to, and it goes when it wants to, and there's nothing you can do about it." Now, the nineteenth-century romantics had said this. You know, Pushkin compares the poet's heart to a coal which is blown into a red glow by the flame of inspiration and then goes black again, and there's nothing he can do about it. And yet, I said to Maslow, "In a sense, you're contradicting your own basic theory, that there are higher ceilings of human nature, that we're free." That's what fascinated me so much, this notion that we are actually free -- that we get these curious moments in which freedom floods over us with a kind of explosion that suddenly shakes us awake. It's what the Buddhists call enlightenment. Whenever it hits you, you get this strange feeling of, "My God, of course." Then of course you wake up the next morning saying, "Of course what?" So the problem was to define it precisely, and the only way you could do this was by learning, if possible, to create peak experiences at will! Angels fly because they take themselves lightly......"She sings as the moon sings"i am I, am I: The greater grows my light...the further that I fly," All creations shivers...with the sweet cry," W. B. Yeats.... Place? there is non, we go backward and forward, and there is no place. Desire itself is timeless! Time past and time future are all eternally present. Just had to share this rare Playbill from an obscure play with Bela Lugosi, written and produced by Edward D. Wood Jr. under an aka...the mark of fine craftsmanship.... .. This is what you shall do: Walt Whitman "This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body." Hunter,Ken and the Hidden treasure No real reason for me to try and explain or even make any sense of it, because back in those days if something strange didn't occur on a day to day bases I got nervous and paranoid. Everyone did. This was back before terminal apathy had set in, before the generation of "swine and vipers": no one ever uttered the word 'board' because there just wasn't time to inhale before the next weird event took place. I was working for a small, underground "news Paper," called 'Uncle Jam," named after an obscure 'Ten Years After,' song for no particular reason and on assignment with my friend Terri to cover an event in Long Beach California. WE would get in for free and as I remember get free drinks and access to the spectacle. It was a frenetic time full of miracles and epic adventures, as Ken Kesey said,"we were coming twice as fast as going." and it wasn't about sex, drugs and rock and roll, it was about learning as well: if you didn't learn or experience something different each day you considered it a failure a wast of time...but there was time to waste...not much...and winning wasn't an option because we had removed ourselves from the game...maybe we had replaced it with our own game, maybe not. So off I went , my friend Terri and I to, well, have an adventure and cover an event on the "Queen Mary." Why not? The next day I went off on my own on an unrelated pursuit. Maybe I had in my mind to write an article on Timothy Leary, who was speaking at a local college or perhaps it was for some other reason , perhaps related to the underground comics I was writing at the time: I seem to recall my editor, George Dicaprio (who is the father of Lenard Dicaprio, at the time a little toe haired boy) writing a book with Tim: maybe I saw a chance for rent money, no matter, I snatched my notes from the night before just in case Tim's "used car salesmen," shtick became boring I could collect my notes and do some writing. But Tim was on, the blarney turned up, charming and hyper as usual. After his speech I somehow managed to walk on to the stage and began telling to him. I had a book for him to autograph and he said he knew me. Yes but from where? I in fact had no recollection of meeting Tim before, not really odd, if you think about it. I do recall some vague facts involving a friends brother being incarcerated with Tim: had I gone to see the brother and meant Tim there? Some friends in High School had been members of "The Eternal Brotherhood," mmmm, no matter. Tim suggested we go have a drink and met up with Ken Kesey. Sure I thought, why not. I don't remember why Ken was in town because I think it was before his release of his book, "Demon Box," but I remember very well that it was right after Hunter S. Thompson's book, "The Gonzo papers, volume one," came out because I got him to sign it. I went into the bar Ken was sitting next to Hunter. It was a surreal moment. I was just a kid with a hand full of notes and a couple of joints in my pocket. WE all sat down and drank whiskey and beer and soon enough I was telling to Ken who was a natural teacher and the most psychic person I've ever meant. It was easy to detect that Hunter did not think much of Leary but Ken, the Peace maker kept them preoccupied doubt he had learned a lot from Neal Cassady: he was able to give you his full attention and then turn to the next person, give him or her his full attention and then turn back to you all in a very easy almost country like manner, not frenzied or hurried or animated like Hunter. Hunter was almost the opposite, almost monomaniacal: he was a big dude, well, bigger then me, and it took me a while to catch on to his speech patterns because there was something jerky and odd about them. After several drinks and a visit to the parking lot for a smoke and a drink of something Ken had in a canteen that tasted like some sort of thick fruit juice + we went back and discussed writing. At this point I asked Hunter if he would mind if I did a parody of him for my column and for my journalism class, "of course I would, but don't let that stop yuh,".And with advice from Ken and Hunter I wrote the following piece...so AND NOW FOR SOME SHAKESPEAREAdmiring Nature in her wildest grace conscious blushing for our race In a savage liquidity land we dwell 'we only love what we can sell,' Deep sunk, desert armies superior might It is only for profit that they fight Not with amazement, wonder our leaders' eyes see their only God is the one of Greed CONSUME, CONSUME they yell at me but I don't listen to their pleaA message this morn I was given a ray direct form the pitying heaven On wings a butterfly said be brave You don't have to be their slave So sweet in infancy I give them scorn and fly away to be reborn.Little Cowgirl Songwhy o' why did you come to this planet why o' why did you follow me home why oh why did you come to this planet why o' why did you leave me alone I meant you one night in a bar down in Long Beach the kind that exists in old Hollywood films You flashed you eyes like an old fifties movie and reeled me in just for the kill I couldn't have known that you were so crazy I couldn't have known you were dead in your heart I couldn't have known that you were so easy where's the director to cut out my part? why o' why did you come to this planet why o' why did you follow me home why o' why did you come to this planet why o' why did you leave me alone? How come you look so good when you are lying How come you look so sincere and so kind how come I got sucked in so easy I guess I must have just lost my mind. We sailed the skies in all kind of weather through rain and heat with joy in our hearts we wondered the streets until dawn with a fever and enjoyed the pleasures of each others parts why o' why did you come to this planet. why or why did you follow me home why o' why did you come to this planet why o' why don't you leave me alone Where's the writer he must have gone crazy tell him it's time to rewrite my part I don't like the way this movie's going I'll wind up with a broken heart I like the Movie with Ole Jimmy Stewart the one that we watch at Christmas each year the one where he winds up the hero beautiful women in his arms and good cheer Who or what, cast me in this movie I don't like this modern kind tears, drama, madness 'n lying Happy endings ,those are my kind why o' why did you come to this planet why o' why did you follow me home why oh why did you come to this planet why of why don't you leave me alone Where's the director, where's the writer where's the producer, there all so unkind where is the editor where are the backers... tell 'em the star has just lost his mind where's the director, where's the writer tell 'em their star, is lost in a rage where's the producer where are the backers tell 'em the star just walked off the stage tell 'em the Star just walked off of the stage!!!!!.ghost ship I sailed across the oceans of life Lightening in my blood all day to and fro I roved with guidance form above with gloom and glory in my soul I wondered on her decks she stole my hope and my love we sailed off in the mist we named no name beyond the two she feel in love with me I tired to return it to her but my first love was the sea The sky she cracked with light and black waves crashed against her breast perilous west into the wind she stood the challengers test Narcissistic and mocking against the moon her silhouette the calm before the rage the sea was not done yet snowy white foam wave each one bigger then the last slammed against the vessel's side she began to crack in half o'er the side the long boats spilled chilly-scream "abandon ship," the sea can be vengeful but also gracious the wounding wind the howling waves did battle with her soul the tempest drove the long boats and we wound up on the shore rivulets of pain and lightening stained her billows in the wind noble fine and fair she was but she had committed sin warriors of the ocean's soul watched the rain drenched waters part "O, what a sword wound to the lady and her tender heart" With anguish in my bones I watched her taken slowly away from me and now she is a ghost ship that sails the unconscious sea Rebecca was a ghost ship proud and stubborn against the sky she thought herself powerful but it was just a lie Rebecca was a ghost ship and she could never really see although I really loved her my first love was the sea cpywritechristopint Surrender Dorthy ( an American Girl's Lament)They'll lay their hands upon your head and whisper soft and low 'I'd never lie to you',they say I pledge that with my soul their eyes seem so sad and wise you think they know some truth 'the heart that breaks will mend again,' but their words they have no use Life's a long slow winter night and slower is the day maybe sometime you'll wake up and it will go away or maybe you will yawn and stretch and to sleep you will yield and lay down and slumber in a golden poppy field Her kind of Love's unlucky it's a brutal curse one sad day she broke a heart and nothing could be worse she works for corporate company she works for corporate greed no matter what she has they'll be something that she needs Ghosts of her temptations graveyard dust is in her bed one day someone walked up to her and put a bullet in her head across the brittle grass she walked fragile flowers crushed 'neath her feet ghosts of all her lovely sins blood stained were her teeth she smiled crackded and faded shook her pretty little head you can not kill me for I'm already dead She sings of epic fornications and of places she once went to drink twleve bar varriations with Sigmand Freud in a tent once owned by P. T. Barnum that's now held on cement just a modern girls's condition just a modern girl's lament "I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my Church...and I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity too."--James Joyce