400k wds, some neologisms. Story of a young bohemian bawn and bred in the briar patch that lay between the borders of St. Elvis Era and the Eleusinian Feels of alternity.
I want to tell you about millennia and Millenniums, about Metaphysics Anonymous, Harmonic Convergence, and concentric rainbows, about the difference between flesh and clay, about Cassius and Muhammad, about Voodoo Village and the Darwin Church, about the decriminalization of evolution, about the strip scene cut from the movie "King Kong", about the Highland Strip Massacree, about De Soto and the Palestinians, Columbus and the Druids, Elvis and his peacocks, Eros and Thanatos, Santa and damnation, Satanic decor and the psychotic biker wardrobe.
Let me begin by stating that I am innocent of all charges.
I want to tell you about Sheafer's sexy phonics and the goddess Dime Medea, Lilith the Psychic Vampire, Gautama Bubba, and the Insidious Dr. Hem Pao Jung. I want to tell you about the Giant Monolithic Computer from Jupiter and the Phantom Light Fucker from Bedford Forrest Park.
In response to all Cartesian inquiries: I exist, self-evidently.
I want to tell you about Fleebus the phonetician, Phyllis Stein the geomaniac, and a secret cult of agnostics in the buckle of the Bible Belt, Whitehaven, Tennessee.
Please don't call me Ishmael.
I want to tell you about pixies and hoodoos and long-leggity beatniks. But most of all, I want to tell you about the Quest for the Cosmic Mammijazzm. As Yahweh has been known to say, from time to time, "It is good."
Briefly: I was born during my earliest infancy. I breathed, drank, ate, pissed, shit, and slept, generally in that order. As a result, I grew to a reasonable facsimile of maturity and procreated. Eventually I discorporated and returned to Terminal Dreamland. Evidently this has happened over and over and over. Again and again and again and again, and yet still again, even more again, learning how to breathe, eat, shit, do simple math, and avoid the ire of the Alphas. (Yes, even shitting is learned -- if not hands-on, nor directly perceived by a hypothetical personality cluster in a holo/tetra grammatical image on the neurally newsreely net-words that make up the skein of Khronos VS Morpheus).
But we are in a different dream now, lying on different beds in different nests, cloaked in different personalities and chilly within these so soul-permeable bodies. Let us go hence, amid the dusk-laden meadows and frosty glens. Don't worry about the World and his Wife; they'll catch up.
It was a dark and froggy night...
Some time ago I found myself entangled in a discussion which revolved around an attempt to define the word "hippy". It was a dark and grog-soaked eve at the Mid-Tao Inn, where a Metaphysics Anonymous meeting was under weigh. Blondie and Kid Blue had taken upon themselves the onus of pinpointing exactly what was meant by the term.
