Freezing, Tired, Hungry, Hitchhikers

Freezing, Tired, Hungry, Hitchhikers


Winter In The Southwest
Dec. '70

Originally, the plan was that Denny would fly back to Michigan from
San Francisco and I would hitchhike back. When Denny showed up in
his '53 Chevy all that changed. The car body was in excellent
condition and Denny said, " The engine was as sound as a top, " but
to me it was still a machine, and machines break down. On the road,
everything was fine until we reached the California borderline.
After fixing a flat tire, and buying two more used tires to carry
along with us, we were back on the highway.

In Arizona the mercury dipped to below freezing and the car's
heater wouldn't work. By the time we reached Flagstaff, four inches
of snow was on the ground. When we entered "no man's land," on the
other side of Flagstaff, the car's engine quit. 3 a.m. found us
stripping the license plates off the car and leaving it in the
desert. We continued on, walking along the cold, deserted highway.

At daybreak, a cat from Cincinnati picked up two freezing, tired,
and hungry hitchhikers, that'd be us. It was not a time for
celebration however. The cat was cross-eyed and couldn't see.
Pulling back on to the highway he lost control of the car, and it
came to an unanticipated stop. He could not drive straight. At times
he would cross lanes, or drive on the gravel shoulder. Then a tire
blew, and Denny and I fixed it, but when we started down the highway
again, the engine caught on fire. After we put the fire out, we held
our breath waiting to see what else could happen. As we approached
Albuquerque, New Mexico, the car's engine blew, and the three of us
arrived in the city on foot.

In Old Town (in the center of Albuquerque), Denny and I decided to
take a break and do some sightseeing. There were a lot of neat
Mexican and Indian boutiques to browse, very nice, but very
expensive too. Once we got back on the highway, a very old black
ford pick-up truck stopped and picked us up.

The driver, coming out of California, was a freak on a mission. He
was going to Nebraska to deliver ten kilos of marijuana and 200 hits
of acid. During the ride, he shared some of his smoke dope with us
and when he went north, we continued east in a much better mood than
when we started out. While on board, I bought seven hits of acid
from him. I figured it was almost New Years' Eve and the acid might
come in handy when friends got together to celebrate, if and when I
ever got back to Michigan. Back on the highway, we got a lot of hit
and miss rides, all of which saved us from the cold, cold, weather.

Our Love Was Real

I’ve Got To Say That I Just Don't Get It The Feelings Gone
And I Just Can't Get It Back


Ocean Beach,
San Diego

Saying Good-by

Jolynn and I finally got some time alone when Denny left for San
Francisco. We went to Sea World, and spent time on the beach
together. We didn't get off to a good start though, and maybe that
had something to do with the fact that whatever we'd had going for
us back in Texas was sadly missing in California. It's not that
things were bad. It's just that after the novelty of sex wore off, I
couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing from our
relationship. Jolynn could feel it too. Lying in bed one morning,
she asked me about it. I didn't know what to tell her. Jolynn was
just to damn innocent; I would have walked across fire to keep from
hurting her. Even so, I couldn't deny that my feelings toward her
had somehow changed. The old feelings were gone. I tried, but I just
couldn't get them back.

After delivering the car to San Francisco, Denny came back to San
Diego driving an old '53 Chevy. On the way to San Francisco, he had
passed the car sitting in a farmer's field. When he inquired about
it, the farmer sold it to him. He planned on driving it all the way
back to Michigan. Jolynn and her sister were glad to have Denny
back. I guess it was his happy-go-lucky attitude that they found so
entertaining. By keeping everybody laughing, he took the edge off.
With Denny around, any hope I had for finding my lost feelings for
Jolynn all but disappeared. After that, I took long solitary walks
on the beach; but in a way, I was okay with that.

The time that was best for us (I didn't ask Jolynn, but I bet she
would have agreed) was spent not only with Denny, but with Rollin
(the hitchhiker we dropped off) as well. Since Rollin lived in San
Diego, he stopped by. After catching us up on what happened to Mike
(his parents finally asked Mike to leave when he stopped acting like
a guest and more like a kid with an insatiable appetite) Rollin
asked us if we wanted to party. We not only enjoyed his company, we
were about to enjoy his mescaline too.

Jolynn had done hallucinogens a couple of times before, and now she
wanted to do some with me. Maybe tripping with her would put things
straight between us; we had nothing to lose. Rollin was the host, so
we followed his lead. He took us to Tory Pines State Park, which was
just south of San Diego. The dope was good, but it didn't matter
much because the scenery was spectacular. The park, located high
above the Pacific Ocean, presented many outstanding ocean views. We
spent the entire day climbing in and out of the clay fissures that
speckled the ocean side cliffs. At the end of the day we watched the
ocean swallow the sun from a ledge 200 feet above the outgoing tide.
Witnessing the soft yellows illuminate the beach, cliffs, and ocean,
was spellbinding.

After Jolynn and I tripped together, the tension in our relationship
seemed to disappear. Its not that we fell back in love, it was more
like a mutual understanding arose between us. Our love for each
other was real (acid speaks truth), but so was the realization that
it just wasn't the right time or place for us to pursue that love.
The planets, or whatever it was that brought us together, did so at
the wrong time.We might meet again, maybe, but right now we just had
to be content with "knowing" that the strong feelings we had for each
other were real. As it turned out, the knowledge that we truly cared for
each other came just at the right time because back at the apartment all
hell broke lose.

We were basking in the glow of the day's activities when Pat came
home and asked what we thought about it. "It," being what had
totally slipped our mind, especially Jo's mind. Pat had told us the
day we arrived and had repeated it the day before that she was going
to be on a taped version of the Dating Game TV program, which aired
during the time we were tripping at Tory Pines. Imagine, a totally
self-centered ego-freak, getting the Miss America crown, and then
finding out nobody cared. Pat, when she found out we missed the
airing of her television show, threw a fit. There was no living with
her after that. I felt real, real, bad for Jolynn. It wasn't her
fault, but she's the one who got the brunt of Pat's rancor. After
all, she was (as was so mercilessly pointed out over and over) Pat's
only sister. After that everybody agreed it was time for Denny and I
to leave. Saying good-bye to Jolynn was hard. I didn't know what to
say or how to say it. I couldn't honestly say anything. I stumbled
through the good-byes, but it took a long time before the pain in my
stomach went away.

No Longhairs Allowed

I Know That I Miss You, But I Don't Know Where I Stand


Mexican Customs
Dec. 1970


I couldn't get Jolynn out of my mind. I missed her. Denny, a
regular at the farm was on his way to California to deliver
a car to his mothers' friend in San Francisco. I jumped at the
chance to go with him. Everything was paid; Denny was even getting
paid to drive the car. To see Jolynn, I would hitchhike to San Diego.

Traveling in a nice car, as might be expected, everything
went smooth; that is, until we picked up two hitchhikers. They were
traveling together, but they weren't together. Rollin was a "head",
a nice guy, and was on his way home to San Diego. He was returning
from visiting friends on the East Coast. Mike, on the other hand,
was a 17-year-old juvenile delinquent. He was a product of the
Philadelphia slums and was on the run from the law for stealing
cars. His destination, as far as I could tell, was the Pacific Ocean.

After we got used to each other, it became kind of fun
traveling together. Denny even decided to drive to San Diego and
drop Rollin and I off before delivering the car to San Francisco.
The problems began when we hit Arizona. We had been smoking dope and
in Flagstaff we stopped to buy wine. Nobody knew Mike had a weak
stomach. He puked all over the backseat of the car. Even after we
pulled over and cleaned it up, the smell wouldn't go away. When we
arrived in San Diego, we dropped Mike and Rollin off and then went
to the address I had for Jolynn. Denny, in order to give the car
time to air out, planned on hanging out for a day before delivering
it to the lady.

I was a little apprehensive knocking on Jolynn's door, but
when she opened it and her face lit up, I knew everything was going
to be fine. She was as happy to see me as I was to see her, and,
after I told her the story, she was okay with Denny spending the
night too. At first it was awkward. Pat, Jolynn's sister, took the
bedroom. Jo and I slept on the living room couch that converted into
a bed, and Denny slept on the floor. Because Denny's charm flowed
fast and furious, he was able to extend his stay into an extra day,
but when he failed to show enough appreciation for a dinner Pat
cooked, he could not save himself. Except for the fact that Denny's
presence made it impossible for Jolynn and I to get any bonding
done, it was still good for me because he kept Jo's sister occupied.
Pat, a real bitch, put up with Denny because he fed her ego, but he
was no longer welcome when he did not finish his dinner. Pat was a
good cook, but any food would taste good if Stalin served it.

Denny made the best of the two days he spent in San Diego. The three
of us spent a day at Disneyland and another day trying to get into
Tijuana. Everybody enjoyed Disneyland, well maybe not everybody;
Jolynn had been there a couple times before. At Tijuana, Mexican
customs wouldn't let us across the border. Apparently, they were
having problems with hippies and drugs, so they passed an ordinance
prohibiting longhairs from entering Tijuana. I guess they thought my
hair was too long. After they turned our car around at the border,
we headed back to San Diego. Nobody was happy about that.

The Big Questions

I Think, I Think I Am Therefore I Am, I Think




At The Farm
Nov. '70

I was going back to school. I still didn't have a clue as to what I
wanted to do with my education. All I knew was that I liked school
more than I liked dividing my time between Carole Sue, work, and
getting stoned at the farm. At school, I could usually count on at
least one good class a semester. It's the only place I've ever found
inspiration. Money has always been a problem, though. This time, my
parents were going to help—without it, school would be out of the
question.

Actually, when I think about it, I haven't really been without
inspiration. I can thank Paul for that. He turned me on to a
couple of books plus Segovia (actually it was the work of interior
house painting that turned me on to Segovia, a homeowner loved
his music). One of the books, In Search Of The Miraculous A Key To The
Enigmas Of The World – Fragments Of An Unknown Teaching (1949), I
borrowed, and the other, Tertium Organum – I went out and bought. On
the front cover of the first book it read: "Ouspensky combines the
logic of a mathematician with the vision of a mystic in his quest
for solutions to the problems of Man and the Universe." On the back
cover, the Saturday Review calls the work, "A very provocative book
that can lead to a complete reassessment of what a reader takes to
be his knowledge."

I will not attempt to summarize what has been going on in my head
since I've read these books (I couldn't if I wanted to). This
passage from the book gives at least a sense of the kind of stuff
that the author deals with:

"…And when the question was asked how the consciousness of this
divine sonship could ever have been lost, the answer given by
Christianity was, by sin, the answer given by the `Upanishads' was,
by avidya, nescience. This marks the similarity, and at the same
time the characteristic difference between these two religions. The
question how nescience laid hold of the human soul, and made it
imagine that it could live or move or have a true being anywhere but
in Brahman, remains as unanswerable in Hindu philosophy as in
Christianity the question how sin first came into the world…

Both philosophies, that of the East and that of the West, start from
a common point, namely from the conviction that our ordinary
knowledge is uncertain, if not altogether wrong. This revolt of the
human mind against itself is the first step in all philosophy…

In our own philosophical language we might express the same question
by asking, how did the real become phenomenal and how can the
phenomenal become real again; or, in other words, how was the
infinite changed into the finite, how was the eternal changed into
the temporal, and how can the temporal regain its eternal nature;
or, to put it into more familiar language, how was this world
created, and how can it be uncreated again." (Tertium Organum, p.
231)

Baba Ram Dass

Memories Can Never Take You Back You Can Never Go Home Any More


Doyle Trail
Nov. 1970

Back in Houghton Lake it was wet, cold, and dark -- a
typical November. I found a job landscaping--I raked leaves mostly.
My supervisor, Alex, was fresh out of prison, and, as a group, we
worked for the largest resort concern in the area. On any given day
our crew, which numbered six, was short handed. It was impolite to
show up for work without a hangover. The job kept me in spending
money, though.

The continuing cold, gray, windy days of fall left everybody (the
old gang) pretty laid back. I renewed my relationship with Carole
Sue. That was expected, but what wasn't expected was that my friends
were living in a farmhouse three miles out in the woods. Most of the
time, upon entering the house, the smell of incense and pot was so
strong it put you on a contact high. That was not unusual. What was
unusual was that a new kid in town was living at the farm too.

Roger, Jim, and Paul, Roger's older brother, lived at the farm.
Roger graduated from high school in the class behind me. Paul, on
the other hand, graduated from the same high school five years
earlier than me. He was (almost) from a different generation, which
made it quite remarkable since he now (at the farm at least) paraded
around in white robes, with long hair hanging down over his
shoulders, and with his beard, he looked like some kind of holy man
from India. He meditated, chanted mantras, talked about out-of-body-
experiences, and condemned people who indulged in excessive
materialism. He was convincing, and although I wanted to believe
him, I couldn't get the image of him as a materialist kind of guy
out of my head. He was after all my older brother's classmate.

In California, Paul, apparently had some kind of conversion
experience. When not enlightening the rest of us, he worked as a
freelance housepainter. (I ended up working for him, and we became
friends.) I spent a lot of time at the farmhouse; everybody did.
Jimmy, the same Jimmy that I hitched back from NYC with, was the
farmhouse's other permanent resident, and it seemed like there was
always a host of temporary people using the place as a crash pad.
With an abundance of good smoke dope lying around, and good music on
the stereo, the farmhouse became the go-to-place.

As much as I enjoyed listening to Paul, I had trouble getting his
holy man image to jive with his business dealings. He had no problem
mixing pursuits; if you had the money, Paul had the dope. To defray
doubts among his admirers he would frequently play his California
tape while the rest of us sat around getting stoned. On the tape,
the Harvard Professor, Richard Alpert, lectured on how LSD was a
portal to a higher, more spiritual consciousness. Alpert not only
taught at Harvard, he taught at Yale and Stanford, too. He also had
a thriving therapist practice going for himself, but when he hooked
up with another Professor, Timothy Leary, he gave all that up. In
search of higher consciousness, the two professors got wasted on
mind-altering drugs. According to Alpert, they got very high, but
that wasn't enough, so he changed his tactics and went to India, met
a guru, and became a holy man. When he came back, he changed his
name to Baba Ram Dass and divorced himself from all material
possessions--his Mercedes-Benz, Triumph motorcycle, Cessna airplane,
sailboat, and MG sports car. Backed up with this tape, Paul's mantra
became, "Drugs set you free." My gut feeling was that Paul wasn't
quite there yet. He hadn't changed his name!

It's true that the Ram Dass's holy man shtick was a bit hokey, but
in fairness, Richard Alpert (on the tape at least), came across as a
very sincere guy. Listening to him left me with the impression that
he really had something worth sharing. It's not that he said stuff
that I hadn't heard before; it's just that when he spoke, the words
jumped out at you, they became more than just religious ideas. His
shtick was unique in this respect. His message was pretty much the
same though -- We are all One in the consciousness that is equal to
energy, love, awareness, light, wisdom, beauty, truth, and purity.
According to him, once you get it, life and death lose their
reality. They are part of the illusion. Get rid of the ego, and you
get rid of the illusion.

The thing that I have trouble with, that I have always had trouble
with--is that everything is the way it should be already, so why
bother to do anything at all? If it's going to happen anyway, why
worry? Everything is happening the way its "got to happen."
Everything is determined. When I heard this I couldn't help but feel
that all this consciousness stuff was just one big, dirty joke!
Alpert made it more palatable (although I'm not sure I understand
why) when he said that everybody's needs are different and that
different people are at different stages along the path. "If I could
but hear my inner voice," he said, "it would lead me down the path
of light." Yeah, sure, get ready, here I come, or, should I say,
here I already am?

Is Ann Arbor Close Enough

Like Looking In My Mirror And Seeing A Police Car It Increases My Paranoia
But I'm Not Giving In An Inch To Fear


Homeward Bound
Nov. 14

After saying good-bye to Darlene, I hit the highway. Rides weren't
good at first. Some guy picked me up and took me to the other side
of San Antonio. Memories of Jolynn flashed through my head as we
were driving through town, but they were cut short when I got my
next ride. Gary, a freak who turned me on to good pot, was on his
way to Denton, a town north of Dallas. He was on his way to meet up
with his band friends. Just before we arrived, Gary bought a case of
beer for his band-mates, and since it was almost dark, he suggested
that I stay for the night. I was glad to accept his offer.

Gary was nice. I really enjoyed his company, but after we got to his
band mates' place the atmosphere changed. Two days earlier the pigs
busted the house, so I was not treated to a warm reception.
Everybody was paranoid. Gary was taken aback by his friends'
behavior, too. We were only there for a short time before he grabbed
me, and the two of us went to a restaurant where we ate chicken
dinners (his treat). When we went back to the house, the residents,
after drinking a few beers, were in a much better mood.

I listened to the band rehearse. They were pretty bad. I was glad
when I was able to crash. The next morning, Gary drove me to the
expressway and dropped me off under the Texas sun, where I remained
for the next five hours. While I was standing on the highway, a
nasty semi-truck driver tried to pick me up on his front grill. He
got a little carried away with the "joke" because he almost lost
control of his truck before he managed to get it rolling down the
highway again. You learn to expect those kinds of things while
hitching, especially in Texas.

Nov. 15

Around dark I arrived in Oklahoma City, and then some kid going to
Tulsa picked me up. He was excited because he was going to spend the
weekend with his girlfriend. After getting dropped off outside of
Tulsa, things started to look bleak. It was dark, and the cold
Oklahoma wind was still blowing even after the sun went down. It
wasn't supposed to do that. I was beginning to think I had gotten
myself in another mess when three freaks stopped. When I got in
their car they told me they were coming back from Mexico. When I
told them I was going to Michigan, the driver replied, "Is Ann Arbor
close enough?" We rode all night, and after taking a side trip to
Chicago, where one of the dudes got dropped off, I arrived back in
Houghton Lake before nightfall, tired, dirty, and glad to be home.

Aside 2010 Merry Christmas

Gloria In The Highest


What the Divinity Structure Tells Us About Ourselves and Love
Sept. 18, 2010

God’s logical consistency is connected necessarily to the evolution of everything that we know about the universe, i.e., connected necessarily to all the possibilities of human behavior EXCEPT the behaviors that contradict God’s self-consistency, e.g., behavior that takes life unnecessarily, behavior that causes unnecessary suffering, behavior that does harm to the environment–harm to that which preserves and perpetuates freedom, life, love, and reverence for the God that makes “all” possible.

And, speaking of love, God’s structure not only finds a place for love, LOVE, ultimately, becomes the most significant experience possible. True, love’s meaning is embedded in “time of mind,” but the experience of love enters through the negative space of “time of mind”– the space of the aesthetic continuum, which, structurally, implies the existence of God. In terms of the structure of Divinity, “time of mind” is the source of meaningful symbol creation, which, in turn, opened the door to the creation of language, myth, religion, art, theoretical knowledge, and the rest of the civilizing processes that we call civilization. But, this ongoing self(Divine)-liberation is not only embedded in civilization, it is also embedded in the aesthetic continuum where the true meaning of life can be found. The gorgeous sunset that sometimes swells our eyes to tears is not just a product of the spinning earth; it is also part of the spontaneous, pulsating, emotion that flows from the whole of the aesthetic continuum. Inspiration for the poet, painter, and musician comes not from cerebral musings, but rather from the empowering emotion that inspires life, imagination, and awe. The strength and resolve necessary to create a better world is not found in analysis and calculation, but rather in the empowering emotion that calls us to love, beauty and truth. The immediately grasped, emotionally moving ground out of which all things arise–the aesthetic component of our experience–beckons us to seek the impossible, express the unspeakable, and imagine the inconceivable.

William James held that “stream of consciousness” is comprised of both thinking and feeling elements. Feeling, for James, participates in knowledge and understanding. Echoing this sentiment, in his article, Reason and Feeling, Professor Creighton describes how feeling animates mind:

“In the development of mind, feeling does not remain a static element, constant in form and content at all levels, but…is transformed and disciplined through its interplay with other aspects of experience…Indeed, the character of the feeling in any experience may be taken as an index of the mind’s grasp of its object; at the lower levels of experience, where the mind is only partially or superficially involved, feeling appears as something isolated and opaque, as the passive accompaniment of mere bodily sensations…In the higher experiences, the feelings assume an entirely different character, just as do the sensations and other contents of mind.”
(Susanne K. Langer, Philosophy In A New Key, p. 100)

And further, F.S. Northrop, in the quote below, emphasizes the spiritual relevance of the aesthetic continuum, and the trans-formative value of feeling and emotion, when he states:

“Now it is precisely this ineffable, emotional, moving quale that constitutes what is meant by spirit and the spiritual. Thus in order to do justice to the spiritual nature of human beings and of all things it is not necessary to have recourse to idle speculations, by means of which one tries to pierce through the glass beyond which we now see darkly, to supposedly unaesthetic material substances behind, or into some unreachable and unknowable realm where mental substances are supposed to be. On the contrary, the spiritual, the ineffable, the emotionally moving, the aesthetically vivid—the stuff that dreams and sunsets and the fragrance of flowers are made of—is the immediate, purely factual portion of human nature and the nature of all things. This is the portion of human knowledge that can be known without recourse to inference and speculative hypotheses and deductive logic, and epistemic correlations and rigorously controlled experiments. This we have and are in ourselves and in all things, prior to all theory, before all speculation, with immediacy and hence with absolute certainty.” (The Meeting of East and West, p.462)

However, I think Jesus of Nazareth said it best when he said “Love God with all your heart and do on to others as you would have others do on to you.” Love animates and grows the spirit and the spiritual. Without it there would be no work ethic, no survival. Where LOVE burns brightest, that is where the Absolute Affirmation reigns supreme. It is love that must be affirmed. Liberation moves God’s structure forward, but LOVE is the real liberator. Lover and beloved become as one in love. All opposites come together in love. There is no substitute for love. Love is the greatest apperception. Freedom, beauty, and completeness are embedded there; the psychic and the cosmic are embedded there. It is the same in death as in life!

Somebody Up There Likes Me

Corpus Christy
Nov.13, `70

I woke up, and ventured out into the cold again. I wanted to split,
but I thought I would wait to see if Iva showed up with more food.
The tide was down, way down, so I walked along the beach, and
collected shells. I met Iva in the process. She asked Sonny and
Robby (two guys who hung out at the beach) if they had seen me. The
three of them came looking for me, and when they found me, Sonny
broke out the beer and we smoked dope. After the impromptu party,
Iva and I went back to my campsite where I ate the beans, crackers
and sausage that she brought with her. She told me she would not be
around for the next couple of days, since she was working on a term
paper for school. I told her I would be leaving in a day or two and
I might not see her again. We were both okay with that. I don't know
if it was intentional, but she made it easy for us to say good-bye.

As soon as Iva left the beach, I went to the fishing pier and
called Darlene. She said that I could stay at her place on my
way home. That's what I had hoped she would say. I broke camp and
took off for her apartment. When I arrived, she was all gung ho to see me.
We got down to more sexual pursuits after getting stoned and having a
few drinks. I had every reason to believe this was going to be an all night
thing, but, afterwords, while watching bit of Paul Newman's portrayal
of Rocky Graziano that was in the background playing on the TV, Darlene
surprised me by saying, "My sailor boyfriend is coming over to spend
the night. He's getting off duty at 11 pm." I looked at my watch and it
was 10:50 pm. I was laying stark naked next to her with a cigarette in my
hand. Needless to say I was up and into my clothes in seconds flat. As
soon as I had moved into the other room and rolled out my sleeping bag, I
heard a knock at the door (the Navy base was just around the corner).
Darlene came out of her bedroom dressed in her see-through nightie and a robe
loosely thrown over her shoulders. When she answered the door, she
was very nonchalant about explaining to her boyfriend that I was a
friend of Jolynn's who needed a place to stay. He didn't seem too
disturbed because after the introductions were over, the two of them
went straight into the bedroom. I spent the rest of the evening
listening to Neil Young on the stereo and eating stale Halloween
candy, trying not to pay attention to all the noise coming from the
bedroom.

Solitary Existence

The Way Your Smile Just Beams, The Way You Haunt My Dreams, No, No, They Can’t Take That Away From Me



As Bad As It Gets Nietzsche Still Makes Me Smile
Nov. 11, `70

I've really been living a solitary existence; the cold forced
everybody off the beach. I ran out of money (except for the $5.
stashed away for my 1500 mile trip home). Iva brought out a bag of
groceries; I guess she wanted me to stick around. I'm pushing it
now, leaving the beach is a certainty; I'm actually looking forward
to it. One of the reasons beach life is less satisfying (besides the
money) is my memory of Jolynn. I'm convinced I could love her, that
is, if I don't already. This loneliness is a bitch. The weather
hasn't given me any reason to stay either. It's fifty degrees in the
daytime, dropping to freezing at night. The only thing that's been
good for me is Nietzsche. As bad as it gets, after reading him, I
can always count on a smile

I wouldn't say that I agree with him on everything, but the more I
read, the more I enjoy his style. First, I believe he is saying that
a "will to power" drives life. Human nature is simply the use of
this power to accomplish goals and satisfy desires. All we are,
according to Nietzsche, are creatures of desire and need. We might
think we want peace and tranquility. Forget it, it won't happen. To
make matters worse, we are burdened with this constant craving to
speculate about "ideal existence," when in reality we are and will
always be simple rule followers. The rules that get followed,
however, are only meant to work for some people some of the time. At
best, we can look forward to a heard-mentality-existence, and then
we die.

Its not a pretty picture! Nietzsche counters this vision of reality
by saying that if we would just act in accordance with our natural
instincts things would be different and better. The problem is that
we think we know what motivates us when in reality mental causes do
not exist. What's in our minds, at any given moment, is only a
reflection of some previous experience reconstructed. We reason
phenomena to fit familiar patterns; patterns that are meant to
neutralize fears and anxieties arising from life's uncertainties. We
create "imaginary causes" (Nietzsche's term) in order to cope with
this uncertainty. Religion and morality are prime examples. They are
habitual responses to life's disorder and uncertainty. Guilt, sin,
and punishment, along with faith, hope and chastity are all products
of our over active imaginations.

Only when morality is driven by the "will to power" does it cease
being a product of imagination. "Morality," says Nietzsche, "must be
viewed as a means and not an end." The "will to power, the will to
master," becomes the moral precedent for all morality. In nature
there are few masters and even they, in the end, succumb to decay
and death. There is only one true master and that master is
the "will to power"; it is a moral imperative. Survivors conform and
obey, or they cease to exist. There are no exceptions.

Traditional moral authority (religious authority) falsely commands
against the natural instincts of the "will to power." Society has
misrepresented the moral precedent of obedience (the precedent set
by the forces of Nature) by inventing the morality of "Thou shalt
not." Growth is stunted when this false morality is substituted for
boldness, independence and freethinking. This false morality
condemns free spirits to a life of moderation and mediocrity. By
denying the moral precedent of obedience, "Thou shalt morality"
becomes a contradiction in terms. When "Thou shalt morality,"
denies fear, (the source of all morality), it denies itself.

After demolishing traditional morality, Nietzsche develops his
concept of "higher man" and higher morality. Higher morality is
realized in the warp and woof of mankind's unceasing, striving
nature. When we learn to inexhaustibly affirm life in the face of
adversity, when we learn to shrug off pain and suffering, then we
also learn higher morality. In this respect, Nietzsche sets
the "selfless man" (the sage who pursues renunciation) on his head.

In Nietzsche's morality there is no protest against life, no purging
the self in order to get beyond illusion. In fact, in Nietzsche's
morality, only when one wills (eternally) agony and anguish, is he
able to celebrate the masquerade of appearance without the need to
get behind it. One cannot have an appetite for life without also
having an appetite for suffering, and in Nietzsche's morality one's
appetite for life feeds off an equal appetite for suffering. Only at
this level of affirmation is a person able to unlearn what has been
learned, is able to dominate and command, and is able to
spontaneously create his own morality, the morality of Nietzsche's
Ubermensch, or "higher man."

Take My Place Have My Seat It’s For Free

School Taught One And One Is Two But By Now, That Answer Just Ain’t True


Riding The See-Saw
Three Rivers Junction
Nov. 7, '70

The ride wasn't boring! My excitement was not prompted by any
extraneous event. Instead, it was the result of a revelatory
experience, an eruption of thought. This revelation deeply affected
me; it changed my perception of reality. It was not however, the
result of an inference or reasoned deduction. It had nothing to do
with logic. The revelation was just that, a revelation that popped
into my head (it had no voice attached to it). I was absolutely
convinced of its authenticity.

On that night, it was raining hard enough to make driving difficult.
I was doing my best to stay on the highway and still make good time.
At 3 am, nothing was unusual. Mike and his chick were in the
backseat asleep, and I was thinking normal thoughts Then, for no
apparent reason, something flashed in my brain. It was like words
crossing the bottom of a television screen warning of an impending
disaster. In my mind's eye those words read: Flash…There is no such
thing as human nature. Man is capable of anything…Flash…There is no
such thing as human nature. Man is capable of anything. I didn't
know why or how the words came to be. I didn't think them. Nobody
spoke them. They just appeared, and reappeared, and reappeared. The
question of whether to believe them did not arise. They were true.
They are true. Suddenly, everything was so clear, and I couldn't
believe that it took me so long to comprehend such a simple truth.
The question, "What is man?" had always perplexed me. I had always
thought of him as a greedy, malicious, self-centered, egoist – a
Hobbesian puppet, but human motivation isn't like that. It's too
slippery to mold, box or explain. It can't be contained in one
cracker-jack theory. Where are the absolutes? There aren't any!
Where are the valid labels? There aren't any!

The ultimate truth of this revelation, - There is no such thing as
human nature. Man is capable of anything-- I am only now beginning
to understand. It will take more than my lifetime to fully digest
what's going on here. There are no essences, only annihilations.
With this revelation, a feeling of total freedom filled my body, and
simultaneously a feeling of rapt unimportance filled my body. After
my revelation, I knew I would have to change my priorities; yet, I
also knew that it didn't matter if I changed my priorities! I knew
that from here on out whatever decisions I would make were only
accountable to me, while I was meaningless and accountable to
nothing. I spent the rest of the ride down to McAllen on this mental
merry-go-round. Not at any moment, however, did I feel bored.

A little before daybreak, we came to Three Rivers Junction and
that's where I said good-bye to Mike. I slept under a tree and
remained sleeping until the sun rose high in the sky. I started
hitching back to Padre Island after that, but I was so entrenched in
thought from the previous night's revelation that I totally forgot
to get out of the car when it passed by my destination. I had to
backtrack fifteen miles. Instead of hitching, however, I walked the
beach. There was nothing but seagulls and hermit crabs to keep me
company. I needed time to reflect on the meaning of the previous
night's revelation. It was a cold and gloomy day, but I hardly
noticed. When I finally arrived back at Bob Hall Pier, the bottoms
of my feet were raw.

I was tired. I wanted to sleep. Instead, Iva showed up in her ailing
car. She was by far the last person I wanted to see. Jolynn was
still a beautiful memory, and I wanted to keep it that way. I tucked
in my chin (I didn't want to hurt her), and acted like I was happy
to see her. I tried to fix her car, but ended up waiting with her
until she got someone else to fix it. After that, she took me into
town and bought me dinner.

Vietnam Protest

I Know What You're Doing. Think There's Trouble Brewing


More Protest
Austin, Texas
Nov. 7 '70

After breakfast, we joined the march down Austin's main street.
There were many protest activities scheduled throughout the day. I
didn't get too excited. I had seen it all before, and it didn't
accomplish much then either. Even though this was a scaled down
protest (approximately 7000 participants), I was witnessing the same
kind of political maneuverings and rhetoric. The protest speakers
were using the crowd to drum up support for their own partisan
interests. I saw very little energy applied to unifying the effort
to stop the war. I was getting sick of listening to political
peacocks espouse the merits of causes that had nothing to do with
stopping the war. The protesters had gathered for one reason: to
tell America to get the hell of Vietnam.

I was glad I had other things on my mind besides protesting wars.
Jolynn had never experienced anything like this before, and it
appeared that she was happy to be taking part. I hoped I was part of
the reason she was having a good time also. After almost a day of
listening to speeches, we went to get ice-cream cones. Walking down
Guadalupe Street for the first time, I allowed myself to think about
a long-term relationship with her. It was getting dark when we went
into a restaurant and ordered pizza and beer, the best pizza and
beer ever. Jolynn thought so too.

Back at Mike's place we continued to act like lovers. Mike and his
chick came home tripping on acid, but that didn't bother us. They
were in their world, and we were in ours. We watched some TV before
turning in. It was morning before we got to sleep. Waking up around
3 p.m., we got in Jo's car and drove to another restaurant where she
bought my lunch/breakfast. This was our last meal together. After a
very sad good-bye, I told Jo I would see her again, and I really
wanted to believe it, but the reality was that going to California
was not in my plans. Getting a ride back to Padre Island was.

Since Mike was driving his chick back to McAllen, he told me I could
ride with him as far as Corpus. It was a long ride to McAllen (more
than 300 miles), and it was late when we left. My separation from
Jolynn left me depressed (as did the thought of returning to the
beach), so I wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere. I volunteered to
drive Mike and his girlfriend to McAllen. Padre Island was about
halfway, and I told him I would get out on the way back. He happily
accepted my offer. After that I hunkered down for the long, boring
ride to the Texas bottoms while Mike and his chick slept in the
backseat.

Intoxicating Car Ride

To Learn As We Grow Old The Secrets Of Our Souls


Corpus Christy
Nov. 5

I hitched into town, and at Darlene's, we talked until Iva and
Jolynn arrived; then the four of us went out and bought some wine
and chips. Half way through the evening, we were running out of wine
when Darlene's mother showed up with two quarts of Boonsfarm under
her arm. That kept the party moving along. After the conversation
turned to my going to Austin, Jolynn said, "I'm leaving for
California tomorrow and if you would like, I can give you a lift as
far as San Antonio." She was moving to California to live with her
sister, and, of course, I was both surprised and delighted with her
offer. "Sure," I replied, "that would be great." The thought of
being alone with the girl who I had a mad crush on put me in seventh
heaven.

The Moody Blues album Question of Balance was playing on the stereo
and, when I wasn't laughing at something Darlene's mother had said,
I was trying to pay attention to the music. Darlene's mother was
quite the comedian. When the wine was just about gone, Iva and
Darlene's mother left. Iva had already stayed longer than she
wanted. She had an early morning class. Jolynn was close to passing
out, so Darlene and I decided to go for a walk. I don't remember
what we talked about, but I do remember what we did when we got back
to the apartment; it was instinctual.

I woke in the morning to the unpleasant sound of the telephone. Iva
was summoning me to a morning sociology lecture. By the time I got
back from her college, Jolynn was packed and ready to leave for
California.

It was intoxicating riding in the car with her. I felt as if Cupid
had sent his arrow straight through my heart. I tried to persuade
Jolynn to go to Austin with me. Actually, I was going to Austin
merely for something to do. I no longer felt that marching in the
streets was going to stop the war, so my entreaties to Jo left a
sour taste in my mouth. But, she agreed, and when she did, I could
hardly contain my joy. I must admit I made the protest sound like a
great humanitarian effort, but hey, a fellow's got to do what he's
got to do! It was a dream come true; Jolynn was coming with me.

We lost our way going through San Antonio. That was not an unusual
event for me, but Jo got flustered. The good part of the adventure
though, was coming upon the Alamo unexpectedly. It wasn't anything
like the way I remembered the Davy Crocket days back on TV. It was
much smaller. Seeing rats run through the streets of San Antonio was
kind of a bring down too. San Antonio didn't have a monopoly on rats
however; Corpus and other southern cities had their share also.

We went to the student mobilization committee (SMC) as soon as we
arrived in Austin. Once there, I got an address where Jolynn and I
could crash. After that, Jolynn and I were off to find Mike, the cat
who drove me to Austin from El Paso. We were in luck, he was
ushering at the theater where he told me he worked. After seeing the
movie, Catch-22, a good movie about the insanity of war, he invited
us over to his apartment where we drank beer and smoked some
excellent weed. He was insistent that we spend the night at his
apartment. (I felt blessed by all the good luck I was having.) As it
turned out, we were too stoned to move anyway.

Mike was with his girlfriend who had hitchhiked all the way from
McAllen, Texas (the very bottom of Texas). It was obvious the two
hadn't seen each other for a long time. When Mike wasn't playing
kissy face with his girlfriend, or listening to the James Gang on
the stereo, he was rolling up another joint. Before the evening was
over, Jo and I crawled into bed together. Cupid's arrows were mere
pinpricks compared to the real thing. Never before had the girl who
I lusted after and then loved, made love back to me. I didn't want
to go to sleep after that. I wanted that moment to last forever, but
alas, my eyes closed, and in the morning, I woke with the girl of my
dreams resting quietly in my arms.

Feelin' Alright

Lord I Can't Escape I Guess I'm Here To Stay
Till Someone Comes Along To Take My Place
With A Different Name And A Different Face



Jolynn
Nov. 2, `70

I didn't get much sleep last night. I walked the beach and sat on
the deserted fishing pier. When I did sleep, I slept till noon. The
sun was warm when I woke, so I went for another long walk. I felt
much better than I had the night before; I felt different too. Not
different in the usual sense, but really different. After I had time
to think about it, I came to the realization that whatever it was
that I was feeling, the feeling was not going to go away soon. It
wasn't a bad feeling. If anything, it was a good feeling. As best as
I could tell, something had happened to me when I flipped out in
that car the night before.

A year ago in San Francisco, I half-heartedly attempted suicide. The
question, for me, especially when I'm depressed, has been: Had I
succeeded would I be better off? "Yes" has always been my answer.
Because pleasures fade and die, satisfaction isn't worth the pain,
heartache, and dread that I suffer everyday, especially when I see
or hear about the suffering of others. But now, after last night, I
feel different. I feel better. I don't want to die. I want to live!
Maybe now I can do something with my life. I'm not sure what, but at
least living doesn't seem so absurd!

Tired of walking, reading, and thinking, I made myself a dinner of
sardines and crackers. I had just about finished eating when Iva
showed up. She wanted me to go with her to her college to listen to
some folk musicians. I was more than happy to oblige. The musicians
were pretty good, but the one guitar player was excellent. He played
Mason Williams' Classical Glass, and Jefferson Airplane's Embryonic
Journey; both instrumentals are favorites of mine. Afterwords, we
went over to Iva's girlfriend's apartment. The three of us smoked
dope, listened to music, and, after Jolynn went to bed, Iva and I
played kissy face on the couch. She made it clear that's as far as
she wanted to go, though. We ended up crashing on the floor.

In the morning we went back to her college where she went to class
and I went to the student union to read. After school, when we
returned to the apartment Jolynn's roommate, Darlene, was home. She
was dressed in a semi-transparent baby doll nightie; only she called
it a dress. After a while she changed into slacks and a see-through
blouse. She had no reason to be modest. Iva and Jolynn disliked
Darlene. It was probably a roommate thing, but Iva did say she was a
bit of a vamp. Promiscuous or not, it didn't bother me. She invited
me to stay in her apartment until the cold weather subsided. I
wanted to take her up on the offer, but out of respect for Iva I
said, "No." I did manage to get an invitation to spend an additional
night at the apartment, however. I was planning on hitching up to
Austin to take part in a protest against the Vietnam War, and
Darlene said I could start my journey early if, on the night
before the rally, I stayed at her apartment. It would have been rude
of me to turn her down, so of course I said, "Yes." Actually, truth
be told, I found myself attracted to Iva's girlfriend, Jolynn. She
was a sweet, tiny, blond, and she was peculiar in that she struck me
as the most innocent human being I had ever had the pleasure of
knowing.

Magical Mystery Tour

The Magical Mystery Tour Is Dying To Take You Away,
Dying To Take You Away, Take You Today


Corpus Christy
Nov. 1, `70

I had just finished eating a can of cold mushroom soup (but I wasn't
hungry enough to enjoy it) when two guys and a girl walked up to me.
They had just dropped Psylocybin and had one hit left. They figured
it would be easier to give it away than to try and divide it among
each other. I thanked the trio, dropped the dope, and walked down
the beach. I hadn't gone far when a car pulled up. It was the trio;
they asked me if I wanted to drive into Corpus with them. They were
on their way to score some acid. I had nothing to lose, so I went
too, and when we got to the place where the acid was, there was a
party going on. The driver went into the house while the chick, her
boyfriend, and I stayed in the car. One of the dudes from the party
returned with the driver and he was holding a cup. He said, "Have a
drink of punch, but be careful. This stuff is really powerful.
There's 18 hits of Psylocybin in it and 15 hits of acid." We all
agreed, after everybody took a couple sips of the punch, to stay at
the party.

Inside the house, I sat with my back to the punchbowl, close to the
speakers. After the bowl was empty (I helped out in that
department), more dope was brought out. The boys having the party
were well equipped; I saw a plastic bag full of acid being passed
around, and, on another occasion (for a different clientele I
suspect), a bag of heroin was briefly brought out and paraded about.
The place was packed with every kind of person.

This seemed to be a revolving door kind of party. I enjoyed watching
the comings and goings while I listened to good music. When it came
time to go, I was enjoying myself so much that I told my ride "No
thanks." That turned out to be a huge mistake. Around 10 p.m.,
everybody split except the dudes who threw the party. By that time,
I couldn't even swallow, let alone talk. I was still sitting next to
the music (now at low volume) when my hosts began discussing their
displeasure. They were upset because everybody grabbed their dope
and ran. One of these dudes angrily said, "Fuck; I didn't even know
most of the people."

I was already uncomfortable, but then it became obvious that these
boys wanted me to explain who I was (or at least give them a sign
that I wasn't a narc), but I was too blown away. I couldn't even ask
them if I could crash at their place because I couldn't talk. When I
thought they were getting ready to throw me out anyway, I stood up
and walked out the door. Outside, on the steps, I took a deep breath
and everything in front of me melted beyond recognition. It didn't
matter though; I hadn't a clue as to where I was. I just knew I had
to keep moving.

I walked in the direction of the brightest lights. At the corner, I
found myself standing on the drive of a gas station, but it took me
a while to realize it. I had to find out how to get back to the
beach. Even though entering the gas station terrified me, I walked
through the door. In the midst of melting walls and rivers of color,
I managed to stutter, "P-a-a-dre Is-land." The attendant gave me a
strange look and then pointed down the road as he said, "It's at the
end of the highway, you can't miss it." Back on the gas station
drive, I breathed a sigh of relief and started walking the twenty
miles back to the beach. In the darkness, I regained a sense of
reality.

When the road narrowed, a nightmarish thought hit me, "What if
somebody offered me a ride?" "I will refuse," I told myself. Soon
after that a car pulled up and the guy in the passenger seat asked
me if I needed a lift, and without hesitation I opened the back door
and climbed into the backseat of the brand new Plymouth Roadrunner.
I got the words "P-a-a-dre Is-land" out of my mouth, and the guy who
offered me the ride, after handing me a cold beer, said, "That
shouldn't be a problem." Then, with beer spilling all over my shirt,
I was thrust against the seat as the car accelerated. From the front
seat came a voice that said, "I hope you don't mind speed."
Fortunately, there were no cars in the oncoming lane. After passing
the five or six cars in front of us, the driver opened the car up as
he continued to accelerate. We were going so fast that we needed
both lanes to keep the car on the highway. At that speed, and on
that not so good road, the car jumped from lane to lane. I was
hemorrhaging in the backseat. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.
The roar of the car's engine was all that could be heard until the
driver shouted, "It's at 140. I think I can get 160." That did it!
I screamed, "I want out! Let me out!" That worked because the
driver took his foot off the gas. As the car slowed to a reasonable
speed, nobody said anything. I guess the silence was our reality
check. Finally, the guy in the passenger seat turned to me and
said, "No sense getting out now, were almost there." I responded by
remaining silent. When I did get out of the car, I found myself
trembling and glad to be alive. In fact, I was really glad to be
alive!

Full Poem

Eight Miles High
Eight Miles High And When You Touch Down You’ll Find That It’s Stranger Than Known

I didn't get the full poem in the last post so I'll try again.

Abandoned Beach Car
Padre Island
Oct. 27, `70

Jim and Collin left for Nova Scotia after I became sick (probably
from swimming in the freezing cold). They wanted me to go with them
and I was tempted, but that would have put me right where I did not
want to be--back in civilization. I felt so miserable I didn't want
to be around anybody. Instead, I crawled into an abandoned beach
car. I resolved to lie in the rat-eaten backseat until I got better –
or died. While there, I managed to finish the poem that I started a
few days ago:

Eight Miles High And If You Touch Down

Searching for high ideals
I have reshaped society's success
into blue jeans, drugs, and sex.
Finding this culture bankrupt too,
I now prefer my own company above all I chance to choose.
But wait, what's this?

Ah, oh marvelous drug,
in rhapsody I take my repast.
No longer will rival purposes
expose my sight of black and white.
With glee I unleash this sensing, feeling device,
to bore past reason's gate where joy and sorrow motivate.

Vision now swelling bright
my thoughts extol in a different light.
Does not old man Nietzsche know
that words are lost on those for whom
gain is the ledger and greed is the toll!
Within rainbow vision symmetry, words
of any degree are mere dots on paper
collecting dust and debris.

O majestic sea
in your prodigious yield, predators consume
and are consumed in the process.
And so it goes
the more of consumption
the less of excess, until
war in his hands,
man murders man.

Caught in this labyrinth
of greed, lust and hate,
dead men are counted
in pride and disgrace.
Repent sinner repent
for this is your destiny, this is
your fate.

Bent on escape from this
madness,
relief from this dread,
my whole existence screams
`Blame's self-devotion devours human
beings.'

Hail, remorseless energy,
magnificent sea!
Nearing annihilation illusion is smashed.
The stakes underwritten,
my soul to give, or my life to take.

Here movement is free,
past mortal cries of misery,
breaching mind-body duress,
avoiding desires that know no rest,
a gift,
by sea,
on sand,
a gift,
of twilight vision mystery!


Full of fever, and my stomach cramped, it got so bad that I wanted
to throw myself on the hospital steps, but I had a problem getting
out of the car. I just laid there, listening to the wind howl. On
the night of the big storm, I lay sweating in the wind-buffeted
backseat wondering if I would see tomorrow, while the sky lit up,
and the ocean roared. In the morning, after the Gale, the sunshine
returned, and the worst of my sickness had passed, but I was still
very weak.

In the days that followed, things got back to normal. On one
occasion, I was invited to play football by some Navy dudes on the
beach. It was fun until I tackled the ball carrier and his shoulder
separated. After that, the boys left the beach and never returned.
As the days faded into one another, I read books, mostly Nietzsche.
On one of those days, however, a chick came out to the beach and we
became friends. She came to visit on a regular basis after that.

Eight Miles High

Eight Miles High And When You Touch Down You’ll Find That It’s Stranger Than Known


Abandoned Beach Car
Padre Island
Oct. 27, `70

Jim and Collin left for Nova Scotia after I became sick (probably
from swimming in the freezing cold). They wanted me to go with them
and I was tempted, but that would have put me right where I did not
want to be--back in civilization. I felt so miserable I didn't want
to be around anybody. Instead, I crawled into an abandoned beach
car. I resolved to lie in the rat-eaten backseat until I got better –
or died. While there, I managed to finish the poem that I started a
few days ago:

Eight Miles High And If You Touch Down

Searching for high ideals
I have reshaped society's success
into blue jeans, drugs, and sex.
Finding this culture bankrupt too,
I now prefer my own company above all I chance to choose.
But wait, what's this?

Ah, oh marvelous drug,
in rhapsody I take my repast.
No longer will rival purposes
expose my sight of black and white.
With glee I unleash this sensing, feeling device,
to bore past reason's gate where joy and sorrow motivate.

Vision now swelling bright
my thoughts extol in a different light.
Does not old man Nietzsche know
that words are lost on those for whom
gain is the ledger and greed is the toll!
Within rainbow vision symmetry, words
of any degree are mere dots on paper
collecting dust and debris.


Full of fever, and my stomach cramped, it got so bad that I wanted
to throw myself on the hospital steps, but I had a problem getting
out of the car. I just laid there, listening to the wind howl. On
the night of the big storm, I lay sweating in the wind-buffeted
backseat wondering if I would see tomorrow, while the sky lit up,
and the ocean roared. In the morning, after the Gale, the sunshine
returned, and the worst of my sickness had passed, but I was still
very weak.

In the days that followed, things got back to normal. On one
occasion, I was invited to play football by some Navy dudes on the
beach. It was fun until I tackled the ball carrier and his shoulder
separated. After that, the boys left the beach and never returned.
As the days faded into one another, I read books, mostly Nietzsche.
On one of those days, however, a chick came out to the beach and we
became friends. She came to visit on a regular basis after that.

Incense And Peppermints Meaningless Nouns

Who Cares What Games We Choose? Little To Win, But Nothing To Lose


Bob Hall Fishing Pier
Padre Island
Oct. 24, `70

With the surf bubbling up my calves, and my toes digging into the
wet sand, there was nothing like walking along the deserted beach.
During those walks I thought more clearly, more deeply. I am alone,
but I wouldn't want it any other way. I was on my way back from one
of those walks when I ran into Jim and Collin. We went to the
fishing pier, and they bought a couple pounds of bait (the shrimp
the fishermen use to catch fish with). They invited me to their
place for dinner. In a good-sized pot (with a tight fitting lid), we
boiled up the shrimp. For $1.50 we chowed down on two pounds of
delicious ocean shrimp. While we were eating, another beach walker
strolled by and asked if we wanted to buy some acid. For $2.50 a
hit, it was kind of expensive, but it was the only acid in town, so
we each bought one hit.

Sitting around the fire, drinking Collin's wine and eating Jim's
peanuts, we waited for the acid to come on. It didn't take long; it
was good acid. Almost immediately my throat gave off that metallic
feel, the one that let's you know you are about to trip. By the time
I felt the "rushes" shiver up my spine, we were all ready to trip
over to the fishing pier. This time however, things looked
completely different. The breaking waves took on the ambiance of a
Beethoven symphony. It was absolutely astounding. With night
closing in, the white-capped surf seemed to take on immense
proportions. When Jim suggested that a storm might be brewing,
Collin reminded us that before we came out to the pier, we had moved
the VW closer to the ocean. We used it for a windbreak in order to
eat our dinner in peace. Our gear was left lying on the beach. At
that point, we started to run, hoping to reach the van before the
ocean's rising tide swallowed everything, including the van.

Being the first back, I frantically began picking up the stuff. The
surf's outstretched fingers—ever so close and getting closer. In our
condition we couldn't get organized. We knew we had to move the van
out of there, but we just couldn't get it together. We started
laughing so hard we had to stop everything (many times) just to
catch our breath. The surf was advancing. I lost my shoe and nobody
could find it. We couldn't wait. Once in the bus, Jim tried to start
the engine; it wouldn't start. That was too much; we were all going
down with the ship, errr-bus. Everybody started laughing again. I
was in the back of the bus, rolling on my back, trying to catch my
breath. Every time one person would snap out of it, the laughter of
the other two would quickly put him right back into a state of
helplessness. Finally, exhausted from laughing so hard, we managed
to get behind the bus to push. It wouldn't budge. It was stuck in
the sand. Wasted and defeated, Collin and I dropped to the sand; we
were too tired to move.

A truck was coming down the beach. After responding to Jim's plea
for help, it stopped and the driver assured us (to our amazement)
that a storm was not about to happen. Just to be on the safe side,
though, we had the driver pull the bus farther up the beach. Safe,
we finally realized the guy in the truck was right. The tide might
have been a little higher than usual, but it wasn't a threat. In our
madness we overreacted. Our fears subsided, but the acid did not. We
were still heavily tripping.

I suggested we go swimming. Jim and Collin didn't like that idea.
The air, away from the fire, was freezing, but it didn't seem to
bother me. I decided to go it alone. I wanted to see what peaking on
good acid was like in the middle of the breaking surf. As I walked
into the ocean up to my knees everything was fine. Then, as I stood
my ground, a four-foot wave swallowed me whole. In the dark, only
the roar of the surf could be heard. I couldn't see when a wave was
going to smack or swallow me, but I managed to keep my balance most
of the time. I imagined myself to be the sea god, Neptune. Holding
my arms high in the air, I began to conduct and orchestrate the sea.
I summoned the waves. Well, I summoned the waves until an unruly one
crested on top of me, dragging me to the bottom and holding me there
while my lungs filled with saltwater. I figured my services were no
longer needed after that.

Back at the bus, Jim, Collin, and I sat around the fire until we
thought we could crash. I tried sleeping, but I no sooner got bedded
down before I felt something gnawing at my sleeping bag. It was one
of those pesky kangaroo rats trying to eat through my bag. I
couldn't cope with that, and I had mosquitoes to contend with also,
so I carried my things to the ocean's edge once again. The only
thing I had to worry about down there was getting hit by a passing
motorist, or swallowed by the sea.

Cold Tomato Soup From The Can

New Land Jack Haggerty Of My Trouble I'll Tell You Without Much Delight


Getting Used To My New Home
Padre Island
Oct 21, '70

I walked over to see the four dudes camped by the fishing pier. They
weren't very friendly, but they did sympathize with my living
conditions. My shelter of a torn plastic tarp, about a half-mile
down the beach, wasn't getting the job done, so I was invited to
move into one of the abandoned shelters available in the area. I
still wanted to be alone, but self-preservation took over as I
accepted their offer. Being isolated on the beach meant that every
time you took a walk, or went to refill your water jug, your
campsite was open to scavengers (it only took one dishonest person).
Among the people living on the beach there was an unwritten
agreement, "I look after your stuff, you look after mine."

My new campsite was now located under an old piece of abandoned
commercial slide. I have no idea how the fiberglass piece of slide
got on the beach, but it made a good roof. I was a stones throw from
the four dude's campsite, so I walked over and they offered me wine
and smoke dope. As we sat around the campfire, I found out these
guys were mostly from Texas and they had come to the island to get
away from it all. For the most part, they had a permanent campsite,
but they occasionally strayed to find work in Corpus. One of the
guys had a part time job at Jeetos, the little store back on the
paved road, about a mile away. The owner paid him with food instead
of money. After we got pretty wasted on wine and weed, we decided to
walk to the store and buy a candy bar. On the way back, I left the
fellows, and walked out to the fishing pier. When I reached the end
of the pier, the view of the ocean in the fading twilight made for a
memorable moment. I made the moment last as long as possible.

I found the boys shooting up acid back at camp. I wished them well,
and went to my slide to crash. The noise coming from their camp
didn't bother me, but the man-eating mosquitoes did. My only defense
against these blood-sucking vampires was to cover up with my
sleeping bag, but then I began to bake. I finally said, "Fuck this,"
and moved closer to the ocean. At the water's edge, there was enough
wind to cut the mosquito population to almost nothing. I had gotten
past the noise, the mosquitoes, and the heat, but the thing that did
me in was the sand in my sleeping bag. It stuck to my sweaty skin
like sandpaper. I knew I would have to do something about my
sleeping arrangements come morning.

I was up with the sun. I had survived a hellish night. The rising
sun turned the entire ocean radiant silver. Breathing in the salty
air, I couldn't refuse the sun's invitation. I ran down to the beach
and dove headfirst into the plummeting surf. Playing in the Gulf of
Mexico waves, I knew I had arrived; it was all worth it.

Beach life was a simple life. It was reading, walking, or visiting
the fishing pier. I would go to the pier at least three times a day.
Sometimes I would find myself perched at the end of the pier for
hours. At night, I would go to Jeetos and get a candy bar, pop, or
ice cream bar. The place became my link with reality; it was where I
went to find out about the outside world. If walking to Jeetos and
having sex were in competition, most of the time I wouldn't know
which to choose.

I met Jim and Collin on a sun filled beach morning. They were from
Nova Scotia, touring the USA in their VW bus. I was already swimming
when the two of them came to join me. The surf was really large and
everybody had a great time. They told me that they really liked this
beach and wanted to take advantage of it. They planned to stay for a
couple more days. After our swim, it was time to return to camp for
breakfast.

The tomato soup I ate wasn't bad, but you had to be hungry before
you could enjoy eating cold tomato soup from the can. I didn't have
the proper utensils to keep the sand out of my food, so I had just
about given up eating cooked food. Reading was next on the agenda
and I must admit; I was beginning to enjoy Nietzsche. I think I had
also remedied my sleeping situation. If you stay close to the ocean,
the wind coming off the top of the waves, keeps the mosquitoes away.

My Friends Bust Up People Who Look Like You

Suzanne Takes You Down To Her Place Near The River
And She Lets The River Answer That You’ve Always Been Her Lover


Alice, Texas
Oct. 20, `70

David was still sleeping when I was ready to leave El Paso. He
wasn't very happy when I woke him, and then he said, "How much money
do you deserve?" I said, "$10." I thought that would at least recoup
the money I spent for food. He motioned for me to hand him his
pants, whereupon he took out his wallet and handed me the money. I
walked out to the highway, and got a ride all the way to Austin,
Texas. I wasn't rich, but I sure was lucky.

The driver, Mike, and his sister, picked me up just before the rains
came. When we reached Austin, eight hours later, it was still
raining. Mike offered me his place to crash, and when we pulled into
his driveway, we saw pigs busting a car for dope just down the
block. That incident didn't exactly send good vibes our way, but
once inside the apartment, everything calmed down.

In the morning, Mike and I went to the University of Texas, home of
the Texas Longhorns. After eating lunch in the student union, we
climbed Beaumont Tower where the ex-marine had shot and killed all
those students. From the top it was easy to see how he could pick
off lots of people. The city of Austin was a lot like East Lansing;
it was the capital of Texas and even the streets were laid out like
the streets of East Lansing (the University was actually larger than
Michigan State University). I felt right at home. After spending
almost the whole day in Austin, I had Mike take me to the expressway
where I thanked him for his hospitality. I really enjoyed his
company. Then I stuck out my thumb and was off for Corpus.

The hitching was good until I got to the other side of San Antonio,
and then it still wasn't too bad. It was night when I got dropped
off outside Alice, Texas. I was walking through Alice when a couple
of cowboys picked me up and drove me out of town. Apparently, they
were concerned about my safety. They told me Alice was not a safe
place for hippie people. They said they had friends who, just for
the fun of it, liked to bust up people that looked like me. I think
they were sincere. Outside of town, I threw my sleeping bag down
Texas cowboy style, and called it a night. At the crack of dawn, I
realized I had slept next to Prickly cacti and an ant mound. I guess
that explains why I spent such an uncomfortable night, not to
mention that my sweaty sleeping bag was full of sand.

It was almost afternoon when I arrived in Corpus Christy. Located on
the Gulf of Mexico, Corpus was home to a beautiful yacht harbor, and
was a very scenic city. I stayed there long enough to get a donut
and coffee and buy a book. When I was browsing in the bookstore, I
remembered Tom (from the Tetons) telling me that Nietzsche was one
of the originators of existentialist thought; anyway it was a thick
book, I was sure it would come in handy.

Padre Island was located twenty miles southeast of Corpus and
stretched hundreds of miles down the coast of Texas. It was a very
narrow island; as such, it acted as a sea wall protecting the coast
of Texas from hurricanes. It also attracted a lot of beach people
like myself. When I arrived, after taking a bus from Corpus, I was
not disappointed. The island's tall grass, sand dunes, and beach
stretched for as far as the eye could see. The only hassle was with
the cars that drove along the beach. When that happened the beach
stopped being a beach and became a highway. Fortunately, for me, I
was there in the off-season, where only a few people were using the
beach. There weren't many facilities. I could walk to one small
store, or the fishing pier, but that was the extent of it. My
intentions were to get as far away from people as possible. Getting
food and water put a limit on just how far I could go though. With
the cars traveling the beach, you were always within reach of
someone anyhow.

My first night on the beach was nice. It was just me, the twilight, and
sound of the ocean surf. I was singing Leonard Cohen's Suzanne to myself
at first, and then out loud...well, at least until the wind picked up.
With the wind, came the sand in the face, eyes, hair, etc. One good
thing about the wind though, it kept the mosquito hordes away; a
pretty mean trick that did not go unappreciated. After finding a
spot for my sleeping bag, I made rice for dinner, but the blowing
sand kept me from eating it. The welcoming sound of the crashing
ocean surf was fantastic though!

Classical Gas, Embryonic Journey, Anji

Coffee House Delights

I really enjoyed working at the coffee house, but the
incidental monies that I was spending were beginning to add up,
money that would have been better spent if I were traveling down the
highway. David never mentioned paying me; I guess he thought a place
to stay was payment enough. Each night I worked from 5 p.m. till 2
a.m. or 3 a.m. and eating in restaurants and sleeping into the
afternoon was becoming a drag. I decided, when I went back to work,
I would tell David I was heading out in the morning. I had some time
to kill before work, so I walked downtown to soak up some El Paso
culture.

At work that evening, I told David I was leaving. He
said, "If you stay for the week-end I'll give you some money." I
decided to help him even though I was tired and it looked like it
was going to be a busy weekend. The place was already filling up.
When I went back into the kitchen, Sheila, one of the chicks I
worked with, asked me if I needed a "pick me up." Sheila, Trisha,
and John, all workers, had dropped mescaline and they had one hit
left. With a great big smile on my face, I took a drink of water,
swallowed the pill, and then took two hot chocolates out to some
waiting customers. If making money was all there was to work then
doing mescaline on the job wasn't a good idea, but if you wanted to
have fun too, well that was a whole different trip.

Soon, I was wide-awake moving through the crowd, delivering coffees
(without spilling), became an exciting challenge. For a brief
period, successfully gliding past the tables and the moving chairs
of the customers made me feel like the perfect waiter. Except for
the money part (I wasn't overly concerned with collecting exact
amounts of money), I did everything right. In a place that sat 50
there were 75 to 100 people squeezed elbow to elbow. In the chaos,
my chemical high went unnoticed, and David was so busy in the
kitchen mixing drinks that I doubt he could even keep track of the
free drinks that were given away.

At the end of the busy night, Sheila invited me over for some wine
at her place. The apartment she lived in amazed me. The cat she
lived with sold dope for a living, and judging by the elegance of
her apartment, he made a good living. On every door was a hand
carved coat of arms. The baby blue carpet on the inside of the
apartment was a three-inch long shag and in the driveway sat a brand
knew pick-up truck with a camper on the back. Sheila and her partner
were in the process of splitting to Oregon. I happened to open the
wrong door on the way to the bathroom, when I walked in on her
boyfriend sitting on a bed full of money, which prompted Sheila to
explain that they were on their way out of town. She told me the
pigs might bust them at any time. In fact, her boyfriend told me I
could move into their apartment (they just paid the rent) if I
didn't mind the hassle of getting busted. I politely declined the
invitation.

Fortunately, we did not get busted, and when I woke up, it was once
again time to go back to work. I decided this would be my last night
on the job. My finances were growing thin and I was really looking
forward to the peace and solitude of the beach. Working in the
coffee house was good experience, as someday I wouldn't mind getting
into that business myself.

An Aside 2006 Perhaps One Of Many

The Machine That We Built Will Never Save Us


An Inspired Creative Offering After Returning Home From Work

Returning home from work yesterday, and after my shower, I
went to my CD collection to look for something to play. My search
ended when my gaze fell on Jimi Hendrix. Turning up the volume on
Hendrix's first album/cd, I settled into my sweet spot chair with a
cold beer in hand. Back in the late `60's, I was the first kid on
the block to purchase that groundbreaking piece of music. Even
though Hendrix hadn't hit the big time yet, I still felt somewhat
special (the music was special), but perhaps not special enough
because when my across town buddy offered to trade his Renaissance
album for my Hendrix album, I agreed, although somewhat reluctantly.

The Renaissance group was one of the first groups to
incorporate orchestra sound into their music production (ditto the
Moody Blues). As I look back, it was probably that sound that perked
my interest in classical music, which today holds a sectional place
in my CD collection. But I'm getting a little off track here, or, am
I?

Think train, a long three-engine train loaded with cars,
barreling down the tracks. Imagine yourself stuck on the tracks
hoping the train will stop before it's too late. What do you do? If
I were you, I'd pray. Now, substitute the runaway global consumer
economy for that oncoming locomotive. The outcome is still the same—
impending disaster.

In the liner notes for "Are You Experienced" the author says
the song "Third Stone From The Sun" is about space aliens coming to
take over the Earth, but, after the aliens arrive and see what they
are about to take over, they have second thoughts. Apparently, they
don't see anything here that's worth taking over so they blow the
Earth up instead. On "Electric Ladyland," Jimi's last album, the
Armageddon theme again appears in the song "Moon, Turn The Tides."
The author of those liner notes, after quoting Jimi's lyric "The
machine that we built would never save us, that's what they say,"
digresses:

"The second stone from our star has been busy getting ready for the
time to communicate with Earth to try and warn the people of Earth
of potential self-destruction which is completely against the will
and grace of living…we must prepare for the amazement in how the
truth shall be presented. Nature shows more than anything and it
does get pretty amazing. What's sometimes more amazing is how people
miss the warnings of tidal waves, volcano's, earthquakes, etc. I
know inside they pretend to miss the message…"

Fast forward to the present, 2006. How much harder is it
today to pretend to "miss the message?" There's no stopping this
train; there's no stopping global consumerism. Big Blue, our planet,
is stuck on the tracks. With its limited resources and "delicate
boundary conditions" it's only a matter of time before the train
wreck!

Perhaps you've heard of Chaos theory. When things (systems)
get out of whack, out of sink, they either break down or, quite
miraculously, change direction. The chaotic system moves from
instability to stability by creating a new system—a new order of
experience/phenomena comes into being, a whole new system sustaining
process/order comes into being. I have just described the emergence
of the `60's counter culture movement, an environmentally sound,
self-sustaining alternative to unbridled consumerism! But, as we all
know, the experiment failed, or rather, the status quo—"the
capitalist locomotive of "more is better'" outlasted the challenge
to its hegemony.

Yes, I've listened to the nay-Sayers, those people who proclaim the
60's and 70's counterculture movement not only failed, it wasted
precious time and resources in the process, or, more equivocally, it
was the derailment of all that was/is "good about America." Back
then, certainly, there was craziness, exploration, rebellion, risk
taking, and all of that In Excess, but hey, that is exactly what
Chaos theory calls for if the system, or remnants of the system,
is/are to survive. In the end, none of that happened, the old system
prevailed and it is now global. In the words of Jean-Paul Sartre,
all that is left now is "a wait for a wait for a wait until we die"—
only now everybody dies! The counter culture phenomena was ripe with
opportunity for change, opportunity for the survival of
civilization, survival of the planet, but now it's just "spilled
milk!" For what it's worth, I still believe. I still hope. I still
write—and pray. The train is coming. For those who can pray, do so.
For those who can't, don't lose hope. The end of part one of this
journal is still two months away, after that there are three more
parts. When it's all over, you still might not be able to pray, but
it's very possible that you will be able to identify with religion—
to say, "I'm religious!"