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Location: The Promised Land

This is my triumphant return to the lifestyle I've always furthered and forwarded in my heart, at least, so let's blast off. The first half of my life has been incredible and the second segment will include more splendors than any Ottoman Sultan could ever have wished for in his golden repose. Anyway, fasten your laughter belt cuz you're on a collision course with wackiness.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Back in the U.S.S.A

That's the United Swingin' States of America, can you dig it, weirdos? Some Quisp suckin' ebay bidder is buyin' my Freakies and that's fine by me. Just when I thought life might not get stranger, something utterly standard came to pass and I floundered and was left to squirm on the beach, drowning. Yech. Sorry, but it's been a really tough day since I landed at six this morning. At least the flight to Hartsfield was big through the hips, roomy. I think I might return to fallible which would be an upgrade. I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring but I've looked into the abyss and I'm still hanging around. Hemisphere's were exchanged but existence remains the same, for now. Mother American night take me and renew the contract with a signature or brains, that's a true story.
I notice the sound of crickets for the first time since ... I'm not sure and I let memories take me to 1969 which I think it was around this date when we moved into the house on Reed Road where I now sit with all her souls present. The Grateful Dead also chime on with their offering from '69 from Chicago and I feel warm inside while cool Morning Dew accumulates outside, while the Dark Star takes it's turn, while Jerry chooses a path. Church is now in session but this is no death bed confession. A peace sweeps over me now and I play the cards I'm dealt. I still dream of Chile and Dean Moriarty and Rosio Reeve and The Thin Man and angels on my shoulders and the devils in the casino and a space being cleared for the stage at Woodstock thirty-seven years ago in a plush field while men walked on the moon above and Robert Altman was filming M*A*S*H. Embracing summer is no problem for me and I am prepared to simmer and swelter to keep the machine spinning in greased grooves to borrow a tad from Steinbeck, or was it Irving Forbush? I'm no politician, thank God, so I'll imagine I'm playing golf and stay sharp for the day that has to come and I'll cash in for big big money. Now if there was just Pretty Polly.


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