Setting: San Francisco, Golden Gate Park National Recreation Area overlooking the Pacific Ocean
Time: 1966 12:30pm Friday June 24th
As Robin McDurly returns from the restroom he notices his friend, Sarah Joslyn, reach into her pocket and remove two blotters of LSD-25.
Robin: (sitting next to her on the sandy beach) Sarah, is it now time to fly?
Sarah: it's always time to fly Robin it's the way we make the angels cry
Robin: then let the old ways die and the new waves begin
(she gives him one blotter as she places the other irreversibly on her tongue and swallows. Robin swallows his and the festival is at hand)
Robin: perhaps this is the time (a harmonica can be heard in the distance playing no discernable song but the melody is falling upon their ears like a shooting star amid the sound of the ocean) maybe this is the only time
Sarah: It's all so very simple, the wind, the cool heart of the waters beating, the gossamer sky all around, the words, it's all music y'know
Robin: The words of the....(he thinks to himself in moment which lasted a year if it were a second...
how can I write anything without experiencing anything in that moment. the memory is gone, That time is before.
I will write about this moment
Setting: the pale yellow basement amid reminders of duties, past mistakes and present happenings of a typical house on a rainy street in a town too big to be clean and too small to be important.
the music playing on the harmonica is vaguely american psychedelia and the air is pungent with old socks and spring lilacs.
a thought occurs...if I met Janis Joplin and a Nazi Zepplin. The influences of one in turn influence another.
food gets caught between the teeth a puzzled look crosses the mind an itch in the ear an itch in the eye now an imagned itch alover altogether
a scratchy beard
the blink of the eyes and the music resumes
the sunlight is good for us cause we're the fishes and all we do
is move about
a drink gets tasted
and another itch becomes a lower back problem
my harmonica is filled with things
a fart gets blown and the smell is god awful
god awful
unlawful
the feeling of piss bloats the bladder
with each clear of the throat the visions of the moat grow more vivid
a memeory a thought a misspleed word
now several
so many itches
how many in a moment count now do you feel one
a san francisco map northbeach was found
neal cassady was bound to go furthur
michael learned and the beach boys
the music slows and becomes ...
my memeory is fading...
CHUCK MANGEEEONY
capns lock for big letters
the mind is active but so is the environment
who needs government
so much control so little we know
gravity folds a shirt hanging on the clothes rack
not another itch crawling down my...whats that
you say the wind is low
it is a low wind
who knows the wind
where does it blow
a jazzy number
freeform
forlorn
lost and lonely amid the the noontime twilight
summer is here its always here depending on where you are
whats more important
thoughts or the external envionment
you can't stifle a beat
it will arise again in a different form
a beat is a beat before it was ever repleat with words
of that i can assure
and the music plays
the itchy back remains
itchy
a piss needs to be taken
another good idea is mistaken
for brilliance
a scintillating notion
a divinely potent...
a combinely frozen synthesis
creatively juicey
flavourfully
the star map on the wall is two
hemispheres
the printer on my right
is white
and blue
janis tries a little bit harder
she gives it to ya
i got them old cosmic blues again mama
you've never had it so good
janis joplin...indescribably delicious
the moment is sound
the moment is around
the moment is visual
semenly casual
the moment is gustatory
telling so many stories
of what we injest
ahhh please the rest outside the door
I can't take no more
the ruins become renovated
the newly constructed becomes delapitated
my heros head is decapitated
and resting on my lap
a stomach churns
and the child learns what to avoid
the stories abound amid the colorful boxes
with bursts of devotion and fits of intoxification
identification
a pen points west north west
its ink waiting to be deployed in some fruitful adventure
or some indolant reminder
turn turn turn
mr tamborine man is from the book of daniel
1 2 3 numbers calibrate
a bc the letters enumerate
human invention
creation or destruction
a warm drink is better than no drink
a dirty white sanyo telephone with micrologic attributes
a mini globe of the constellations with some of them missing (conspicuously)
a mug full of pens half empty
(the pens not the mug)
a coil binder longing to be written in
and all along the air is still...
air the thread of time weaving through
steven hawking is wrong
the universe had no beginning
how could it?
each day is depleted
each moment is as we leave it
frozen
retrievable?
only in those who have the capacity
for memory
everything has memory
insipient reality?
who says life is life
some bullshit musical idiot whose name escapes me
probably the kinks
i hate the kinks
i'm not sure why
but i think it has something to do with the name
the members of the band the music their country of origin
so many reasons for hating so very few for loving
why ought one love
no answer
the shadow lies still
until it's animated by it's host
humans are a vector for the trees
to disperse their seeds
and contribute to their biomass
everything written and spoken
is but a camel and a token
for all the dinners you had
and all the death you consumed
words aren't meant to be spoken
written
they're meant to be wheeled
and ridden
as soon as their gotten
forgotten
neal cassady was a fucking genius
a verbal jazz pianist
the noble prince of keseiness
the sun sets
and the daytime rests
waiting for tomorrow to fall
the stars come out
ejaculated house
of poitillistic pall
each sunset is like the next
crucifying the...
brides in flight
each sunrise has gone before
idolizing the...
foolproof night
she rises and sighses
like it's all a trial
she smiles shes kidding
shes beridding the baggage
the lost saggage of her olden days
and so she crawls and forestalls
the future into her pastersbys
they don't know her anyway
but how could they
why should they
it's all a little...
dum dee dee dum dee diddle dee dum
she flies with no particular place to go
and no
she doesn't even know
its her alone and there is nothing to worry her anyway
her body and eyes can see her come out and play
play play
the slide in the park where it's dark
used to frighten her all the time
but now she is old and it only enlightens her in her believable mind
it's all okay
i think she will stay
i think she will say it's a play
la la la la la la lalalalala la
it's all alright to me
there's a vibe in the middle
there's a vibe on the coast
there's a vibe on the ripples
of the pubicisoap
my foot is in a cast
and the cast of characters refuses
to partake in the show
it's a play about her y'now
suppose for a moment
the city sticks out like a whore nun
like a door wrung
of it's old hinges
like a song sung of it's adjectives
it's all alone y'know
she said i said she lied on the beach and said she was dead
the seagulls ring and the beachboys bring the summer again
the same old refrain
dit dit dit, dit dit, dit dit doo
who says people are bound to be used
who said such a thing is liable to be sued
by the time it catches on
it's dead
it's too late the moment's gone instead)
Robin: ...letters are so silly y'know
Sarah: of course...they are all around us. I see them all the time. Dancing, weaving amongst the trees like the spirit of a dead redwood haunting the forest looking for it's stump.
robin: dig
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