Green is my valley

     The bones are stacked 

high as a mountain

        I am the Wrath-

        The Basil Wrathbone

    - Thats French 

     For "what's up fuckstick?".

 Blinking blimey

    I've no nose

       My eyes are plums

          I've gasped for air in the cemetery's backyard

     I'm stove in, stove in

         Like Mickey Mouse and the three little pigs 

    

 did I?

    Did I break the rule?

     Of no horizon through the head?

      Birds are eating anchovies

    And some are falling on the ground

   Must be a tik Tok challenge.

 The mirror cast 

     the frosty glance 

        at revenues and large paintings

    dust in every painting, decay on his lips

      Stacked boots and beds 

    Always Always gray skies

 Oh the gleeful sunny morning

    In shady stoneybrook valley

        Traipsing thru wrappers of former meals

             Like swimming with dolphins manatees and seals

   A fine day to dodge the squeals of tires as they peel

   Out of the lot Starbucks Frappuccino Mundial secure

     In Guantanamo cup holder. Local teams only flag flying 

  In the delightful wind. 

   My pants are getting tighter everyday- another month another size up! More of me! More for me!

 The deft appraisal of the Strawberry Super Moon

  Deft ? Left?

       The dog jumps on people and I'm the bad guy

    No spiny choke collar! Okay 

    No FaceTime with the dog!

    I'll eat all the pizzas 

       And the extra firm tofu

  The gal at the art supply was very self congratulatory 

    Regarding her knowledge of fountain pens

   I told her the the story of how "The Truth" was on

Who wants to be a Millionaire?

  She kept doing this thing with her eyes where she'd roll them back into her head like how some people close their eyes in conversation but her left eye would still be a little open but you could only see the white of the eye. I'm sure she had no idea how it appeared, 

  Dan K. came over with a bottle of gin and the cutting board pulled from the kitchen he and his wife just bought.

"Have you ever used a power sander?" He inquired.

"Belt sander or Orbital" I replied. 

We sanded the fuck out of the exterior of the cutting board

And then applied the stain. 

 A smelly garbage barge was dragging through

     The straits.

    We'd been told 

Oh we'd been told. 

    Garbage barges are where you're at.

   And we hooked and rattled for three stinking nights

     The bosun bellowing at us like a stuck pig

      I'd'a liked to stick that bastard but my leave was on 

       The calendar and nothing would keep me 

     From the sweet streets of Taipei

     "You'll catch the bloody typhoid of Sisyphus

     In that swamp, listen up!"

    The codger never stopped but I was one of more cheerful

 Prevarications as it were. 

     "Stay the focsle lads and run her home!"

 Kerouac's letter to Tim Leary after psilocybin trip

Dear Tim (coach)

I wrote yo stupid drunken letter, I mean postcard, addressed to Harvard Psychology Dept. which you may get. But Allen reminds me you want notes on my reaction to Sacred Mushrooms extract. Why not I make it in the form of a letter, here and now, without planning, and you can extract what you need for your article and researches. (Allen also suggested I send you my notes on Mescaline but I only have one copy now, will type it later for you, but in any case Mescaline is not the same as mushrooms, as you know)
You say that Montezuma was high on sacred mushrooms and therefore did not resist Cortez but I don’t think that was the whole story, because under mushrooms I felt myself more in the mood for self-defense than I am usually (because of a vow of kindness in the spirit of Buddhism made soberly years ago, and also old teachings of sacred young brother who died in 1926). No, in fact on mushrooms I felt qutie strong, quite angry in fact at the atheists for fighting Christianity (communism so-called vs. capitalism so-called, it says in the paper, but it’s really atheism vs. gnosticism.) (right?)

Mainly I felt like a floating Kahn on a magic carpet with my interesting lieutenants and gods… some ancient feeling about old geheuls in the grass, and temples, exactly also like the sensation I got drunk on pulque floating in the Xochimilco gardens on barges laden with flowers and singers… some old Golden Age dream of man, very nice. But that is the element of hallucination in this acid called mushrooms (Amanita?) The bad physical side-effects involved (for me) stiffening of elbow and knee joints, a swelling of the eyelid, shortness of breath or rather anxiety about breathing itself. No heart palpitations like in mescaline, however. I felt that Donlin was asking for too many ‘fives’ all the time (in the trade they’d say he has an oil-burning habit, or is a “hog”)—But under the sympathetic influence of the drug or whatever it is called I kept agreeing with all his demands. In that sense there’s a lot of brainwash implicit in SM’s. So I do think we took too much. Yet there were no evil side effects.

In fact I came home and had the first serious long talk with my mother, for 3 days and 3 nights (not consecutive) but we sat talking about everything yet went about the routine of washing, sleeping, eating, cleaning up the yard and house, and returning to long talk chairs at proper time. That was great. I learned I loved her more than I thought. The mushroom high carried on for exactly till wednesday Jan. 18th (and remember I first chewed the first pills Friday night the 13th). I kept it alive by drinking Christian Brothers port on the rocks. Suddenly on Friday the 20th (day of Inauguration) it started all up again, on port, but very mushroomy, and that was a swinging day, yakking in bars, bookstores, homes around northport (which I never do).

My report is endless, exactly. But here, remember what we were saying? “What? What did you say?” (to have a mumble repeated, the mumble being of excruciating importance.) And “Who are you?” “Are you sure?” “I’m not here.” — “What are we doing here?”— “Where are we?”—- “What’s going on?”—“Am I going to die?” — “No” — “I can’t see you, you’re a ghost” — “You’re the Holy Ghost” — “walking on water wasn’t built in a day” — “We’re just laying around here doing nothin” — “Even if I knew how to break your leg (utilizing Zen koan about Baso (T’ang master d. 788)) “even if I knew how to break your leg I wouldn’t do it?— besides you haven’t got a leg. Who said you had a leg? You? Who are you? I can’t see you? You’re not there! I don’t see nuttin! I hate you! Why? Because I love you!” “I love you anyway.”

We were at the extremest point of goofing on clouds watching the movie of existence. remember?)

Owing to the residue of Sacred Mushroom hallucination I woke up briefly the other quiet morning (Thursday 19th) feeling that everybody in my neighborhood was sleeping trustfully around me because they knew I was the Master of Trust in Heaven (for instance).

Everybody seemed innocent. Ladcadio became St. Innocent the Patriarch of Holy Russia. Donlin became the Paraclete, whom you waved over my head by an astounding show of physical strength (remember?) It was a defninite Satori. Full of psychic clairvoyance (but you must remember that this is not half as good as the peaceful ecstacy of simple Samadhi trance as I described that in Dharma Bums). When I yelled out the window at the three Porto Rican teenage boys walking in the snow “Avante Con Dios!” I had no idea where the word “avante” came from, Allen said it meant “forward with.” Clairvoyance there. I saw you, Leary, as a Jesuit Father. Donlin called you Doctor Leary. I saw Allen as Sariputra (the Indian saint). My old idea of St. Peter (about Peter Orlovsky) was strengthened. I saw Peter’s sister Marie as Ste. Catherine. Bob Kaufman as a Michoacan Indian chief. I saw Communists all around us (especially that Ben Rosenbluth, and others). Pearl became a Lotus of indescribable beauty sitting there in the form of a Buddha woman Bhikkushini. When someone mentioned people being electricity I said “Consolidated Coils.” Divine run-outs in my head, like when I went to pee I said to the toilet “It’s all your fault!” and could never leave the group without feeling that they were still with me (in the toilet.) Finally told my mother “C’est la Sainte Esprit” and she agreed. My old conviction that nothing ever happened was strengthened (ow). I felt like a silly agnel (angel) but now I know I’m only a mutterer in old paths, as before. I kept saying, however, to all kinds of people “What an interesting person you are!” and it was true. Finally I said “I think I’ll take a shit out the window” in desperation, it was impossible to go on in such ecstasy and excitement. Jokes were the Sacred Jokes of Heaven. The low dog of Dublin, Bob Donlin, was there by design, I’d say, to keep the good old Irish jokes going, otherwise we would all have been too serious, I say.

In sum, also, there is temporary addiction but no withdrawl symptoms whatever. The faculty of remembering names and what one has learned, is heightened so fantastically that we could develop the greatest scholars and scientists in the world with this stuff. (By the way, does Wm. Lederer the stuttering genius at Harvard, take it?) (He stutters with a method, most eerie). There’s no harm in Sacred Mushrooms if taken in moderation as a rule and much good will come of it. (For instance, I remembered historical details I’d completely forgotten before the mushrooms, and names names millions of names and categories and data.

well okay
Touch football sometime?
Jack

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