On NORML, HEMP legalization tour

Waiting, waiting & gathering what is bubbled up from the crevices of surface reality, which we find is rarely other than that. This is my locomotion into the dark mundane, as critical understanding of what I had gone thru was nil, yielding to observation only--that being only potentiality of what could be adduced. Like a monk, I sought solitarian being & no-struggle towards what was social distraction, & silence. The bus, like a cavalcade of the known, took to the utterly bland fields of Ohio as if a hostile voice streamed towards its goal--my presence of mind, making up an ill-considered cosmic tourist of me. I had taken along Luis Borges' Labyrinths calculating its Cabbalistic intensions, like a deep-aside to an ascetic report. My dissipation was ominous and unyielding i.e. we were on a "hemp" tour, and what came of my academician quality looking at that book for hours at a time, only makes sense today (the soft machine becomes part & parcel of a greater organism). Words, plains of pavement, empty train tracks following the highway, novocain mind drivel - all left me seeing each word on the one chapter page, The Circular Ruins, with having a green shadow cast upon its black print. A truth from an ancient time seemed the order of those few moments, like the first literate beings conceptualizing waywardness would have been looking into plants on the ground, the world around colluding just enough to make them wonder what comes ephemerally from beyond...

apropos of a WET SNOW

Living in active pursuit towards experiencing your interests is a waiting game for it to catch up w/ you, over take you, but you are the hunted--it is gainful to look at it this way & we do. But when there is a lack of pursuing of activity one begins to haunt the very grounds where you were once caught-- caught up in life's grand reward. The waiting now becomes superceded by the duly noted objective, your not there to spend time now. Haunting is like chasing thunder, it can be all around you (this thing you've gravitated toward), but you have only suceeded in becoming soaked & beyond its report. (a pop, a flash, a bubble, a shadow... {Kerouac}) You're terminally late, not unlike a spirit. Relating to this somehow is a goal I had one time of grabbing the horns of relationship's BULL, riding it out, & not sacrificing my self-respect: I had nothing better to do at the time, in other words. So I break into my girl-friend's car w/ a wire hangar, she drove a big black Eldorado which I subsequently kicked leaving a dent in the front fender. It is February probably, cold out & I wanted to rummage through her ashtray to find an old roach to smoke. She is in the restaurant across the street working. Found, I sit there smoking in the flurrying rain listening to the radio. Now the haunting begins of an old mind that knows to commune with relationship means something other than this...