HErswithesticked Mine. Ouruphaphalos of Propetry! Urse was on with my handcubes and right planktons were sashayed tethered and gigaclimactisised to he

I was Jung. We were all young and the great sorrows of the Thirties and early forties had not yet dawned on us the older ones, there with their balms potions, Hibernian fluids and slippery ways coached us through the early stages rising at dawn to greet the night sky. So this was poetry then. Our consciousness, Jacks laughter at the steps of the queecheee lodge, woodbuildings and hot stoves cappuchino laden stomachs and hands stretching sjyward in the postures of a ypogi. This land was our Romania, this land our Bulgaria this land our Estonia the land not Nature itself exactly, saying this Jack was preempted from finishing dues to the remonstrances shown by the vilified child who was then handing out the pills, bowels of it into the seed hemp gash slash were feet through the desert sagebrush as we weternally sluched and were chastised for doing so. The summer of 1987 roaring into our consciousness. 1986 big enough, with the new Salvador entering consciousness. The Day out of Time in Honduras. 




Base Camp made we set foot and sailed across the dark southern continents verifying dfate with our lens like objectivity and perception. Whoosh up went eagle eyes, wings that were made in san Francisco basements were flown like kites upon our backs. Then the alignment, dusty feet, telephone bills made good again from high rise of lonesome block flats outside Denver, down the slopes on skis outsiode Golden the Idaho river busting its banks into the sluice that had been left behind by Hoover. Oh they were so far from our truth! We didn’t know but yet the canyon would deepen. Buying postcards later that day with car pulled up beside Vw 78 Vans and Peugots were the three sisters who were there for the weekend enjioying maple that seeped fromm the trres on the rim; drinking lemonade in 1988 later were the stroms and seedspells, wavebundles of night that were nuts to our establishment of vwersification there was the Ninetiy thousand in the marches on Washington. Freeing consciousness up from its roots there were in Yellowstone national park hipsters and wild children flying flags from totem poles paid for with sweat from summers spent painting the suburbia in new colours. Long long long before Ringtones, long long long ago before the mobile buzz and the network deltas had beeen created long before the three for the price of two sales and submarine sandwiches long before the new York stadium was torn down, so long ago in fact that the old rickety was of doing sthings now seemed quaint faced to the duplication of it we all were glad rolling through those high consciousness plateaus of Arizona, bathing in the good friends from Albion Ecuador peacemaking maps for the future of civilization as it rode and strofe dand with that the Russian girl I jbnew and three slavs were making their way back from Atalanta, we met there, in the Trailways station two Englishmen and one French girl who passed a sensible made roach clip to me as a gift.