The Flowerhouse

I sat with Chris Schulchan under an immense snow dusted Weeping willow as the cloudless Arctic sky drowned into the chaosmos beyond an expanse of frostbitten foothills and Steaming river Smog. He'd trisected into a bacon infested salad and a sandbox from 1967 as we Spined through an array of ‘not so’ Surf and British pop reminiscence. An uncertain Revolution seized on etic gifts before the Bhuddas and Mystics took to bio-electric connections. During that time he was off to Restoration sites and over Oriental occupations, Occidentally employed 2 blocks down and a street over from the Crack Mac's and losing his folk process to the Digi-Delta Phi armies.A few weeks later I found him in Kensington at Bud Cohen’s ‘Round the back and up the stairs Open house party. Analoging Thetas and absorbed in meditation through the Digitally beta. We tuned in a lot, and since turned out a Bicycle ride through the blossom world, over the arrowhead hills which led us to the flowerhouse. Spring blossoms swift summer thoughts, and he is in Bloom when encouraged to seed a New song. As the Meaning is just the Message, he will be tilled deeply to pollinated senses. You could hear it now, built into multisourced polystatic Gateways.Entropy emphatically falls into negative, Perception synchronized by six and ten. Lets do the time Warp again. - John West, February, 2009