Like, visions of a past life. From Ken Kesey being released from prison, and even before that, Magical Mystery Tour, The Grateful Dead, Merry Pranksters, Allen Ginsberg, Hell's Angels, a dust storm of death, and Hunter Thompson, always, right there in the midst of it all, grinning maniacally from behind his typewriter. Tim Leary, the sage, and Neal Cassady, the who-knows-what behind the wheel of a day-glo bus. Jack Kerouac lamenting what he helped create, and then threat! And dope! And acid, good God.
I've been reading, books, articles, anything, and listening to that fiendish old time music, and I wonder. Seems that's all I do now.
"Just gimme that rock and roll music, any ol' way you use it."
My mind is ricocheting off these walls like a lightning discotheque and BANG! BANG! BOOM! It's new years. Don't forget. Don't sleep. Yes Thailand, thank you Thailand. Point!
Yes, what did they start that they did not, or could not finish? Did the drugs rot out their brains like the television ads say? Did apathy take hold? What was it that stopped people from fighting, only not fighting, living, for more. Honesty, up frontedness, synchronicity, harmony. Why stop? Seems silly to me. Though in truth, what have I done lately? I'm too scared to say hi to Johnny from Toronto when I see him in the hall. Well okay. I'll try. People can be happy. I saw it once in a dream.
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