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.
The theme of this saga is quickly seen to be a folk epic of the "lost paradise" type. This is another kind of tale that nomadic Sixties-Seventies tribes have in common with primitive peoples worldwide. Though at first sight it may seem a diversion from the main story line of the Cosmic Mammijazzm, further examination reveals that it furnishes the "spiritual causality" element necessary to any understanding of Pre-Feral Period folklore. --Oxhideus Cupro
The Aves of Aramie
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Ashla Aramie, early of Green Via, Missy Pea, that ultra-verdant flattuland soft by Land of Le, whether by Santos or Holy Shiite or the King's Highway (61), came up from King Cottonmouth's demesne, bearing the seerlight, windove sane.
Bubba, on that bugseye day tripping drugless and droogless, stopped by Orphic Ana's[i] house, belike to twirl a joint or three. When he got there he found randy Ani and haremless Aramiss, ganglaing olay in soma foma.
Ani introduced him to Aramie, an acey-deecey head, and as he sat talking and gawking he soar a vision veil-fall over Aramie's face. "Contact trip" he thought as he watched her countenance shift to that of Magera May, a character he'd created for his Celtic fantasies, she who watches over lost, disheveled, starmuddled souls wandering in the deluge aeons of Sinsorrow.
Ah Magera May! Delighter in Glens, Digger of Groves,
Defender of Copses and Queen of Knolls,
moodrash weedwand sidhe from Levantime phrenograph transporned
in tripvision engendered with no comical phasis!
Just as a witless horse might take a notion,
so did faer Bubba take dee vosion.
"O Cumulo-Nimbic Princess, o Dragone Smoker, o Clairluce Bearer! O Gramblin' Maid and Grange Kuan Yin! Votan Esseen and Ipssissi Miss! Me will is thine, ley maya wheel on air astonied! O Wand, you could slay me, Koan Djinn!" Bubba plumed.
"An eyefull, greeting Bubba Faerenweiss! May hearth leaves mith jovie and light!" she responded in kind.
And so eve in July the two of them took a billet. (Though where they took it is no body's bassinette!)
Druvid Grand Mer, elfwine seer, showed up with Aramie in Memphis one pollywoggle day, doling out readings like yesteryears' mail call (or rather, tamara-yearns wishes). Ascute as Delhia, Rishi of the Rowd, with a mimepack of karms and a flexiwishwash tippity strood in his steppings, swanging his bithocks like a quayboy Sheba ere he ploop down on a pile of cushions, snaking his hips three times round to spruce a place in the taony-down hallowfeels just right. (He says he was a poodle in his last life.)
