On the Road with Devotion

…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…      Jack Kerouac

 

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The yellowed pages had been many places before.

Just as I have.

In truth, the book had been many places more.

From candlestick to wrinkles in time on the road.

Fabled lines where dreamers who dream can go.

And,

in numerous ways,

an outlet for the abused to avoid the scold.

Everything between leather and lace.

Recollections of wonderful sin…

Where the journey begins.

Wonderful…

the ecstasy of paper-thin pulp.

A library amassed with the texture of worn wafer.

An effortless phrase would slay a demon.

Chapters bound with heroic souls who made us safer.

Smoked stained pages absorbing all our childhood fears…

All our childhood wages.

“Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream”
“Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream”

 

 

Hippie, Hippie, Shake

abby hoffman

Freak: a person who is strange or different. A term of derision, typically used to dismiss someone outside of one’s social clique. Also used as a playful tease.

“When we heard about the hippies, the barely more than boys and girls who decided to try something different… we laughed at them. We condemned them, our children, for seeking a different future. We hated them for their flowers, for their love, and for their unmistakable rejection of every hideous, mistaken compromise that we had made throughout our hollow, money-bitten, frightened, adult lives.”
Author: June Jordan

It is unfortunate that those who follow a certain pattern of behavior, particularly, millennials, do not grasp the true meaning of Hippie Freak.

Just the other day, while working as a Bernie lead during the New Hampshire primary…I politely, and with honor in mind, referred to a new found friend as…

Hippie Freak.

Course, that was taken out of context.

Stand proud young man, wake confident, young women,  to be considered a modern day,

unique, inquisitive and free spirit.  It is nothing more than an old hippies of way of saying,

‘Your shit is pretty cool.  Keep the peace!’

abby 2.jpg
Free speech means the right to shout ‘theatre’ in a crowded fire.  -Abbie Hoffman

 

Patchouli Fran

Patchouli Fran

I want my women dirty looking, as though I'd found her in some alley -Bob Dylanh
I want my women dirty looking, as though I’d found her in some alley
-Bob Dylanh

Attachments such as, freedom

And

nothing ‘left to loose’.

Burning incense

driving down dodge drafted screws.

My music isn't supposed to make you riot, it's supposed to make you fuck -Janis Joplin
My music isn’t supposed to make you riot, it’s supposed to make you fuck
-Janis Joplin

Patchouli smoke

herb to wine

Giving a toke

feeling fine.

Burning incense during

Disney fables,

little green apples

and

talking dog music labels.

I'd rather be dead than singing 'Satisfaction' when I'm 45 -Mick Jagger
I’d rather be dead than singing ‘Satisfaction’ when I’m 45
-Mick Jagger

Smoke stained eyes

G.I. Jerry G in

a cross dress

via dead design.

I'm the only that's got to die when it's time for me to die.  So let me live my life the way I want to -Jimi Hendrix
I’m the only that’s got to die when it’s time for me to die. So let me live my life the way I want to
-Jimi Hendrix

Oh, a musky, sweet pungent soul

The beat goes on

to a beatnik rummage sale.

Whiskey with laces

Resin limits

Scraping the bowl amongst blurred faces

Weir’s Beached

barren bone 3

 

Barren and bold

Stone cold bone

Alone soot from a sodden stove.

 

Shook the itch…

that conclusive bitch.

She felt like poison ivy with a nervous twitch.

 

Left by itself

it could have passed,

as a vacant father’s vacant past.

 

Some beaten Beatnik, however,

rode along.

Placing passion with an off beat song.

 

Smoked by grass and distant cat fights.

And liberally located ink-ed nights.

 

Don Quixote plus Don Juan plus a two-legged motored steed.

Rambling Rose meets Dirty Deeds.

 

Grasping at compassion everyday...
Grasping at compassion everyday…

 

Another Freaky Roadside Attraction

 

Another Freaky Roadside Attraction:

I had been born in the winter of No Love…1967! So, in true pre or post Wanna Be Hippie fashion…the year of my birth became the sign of the Freak.

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart

There had been no other freak like me. No other words to describe ME. No slang, no slogan, no Beatnik generational dangling of truth about ME!

Alas, my narcissism had the better of me for several decades.  With binding blinders off…and chips of shoulder discarded; I found I was a part of a bigger society.  The Freaks!

A true freak. As with a recovering addict, is a freak, the moment they declare themselves so.

Little known tidbits about the Freaks and Fashionable mislead:

Freaks like lyrics that are not akin to their dress! For example, I am considered the Butch of my marriage and therefore, by ‘look’ alone…one would think I love angry lesbian music.

Not so. As a matter of truth, my favorite song to sing in the shower is Roger Miller’s God Doesn’t Make Little Green Apples. I bang out a chorus or two whilst applying my Suave low-budget Green Apple Shampoo.

Freaks occasionally adorn articles of body Art. Tattoos, piercings of unknown origin and hairstyles of the not so rich and not so famous. What is particularly odd about the tattoo of the freak? Many by standers and passersby, believe these persons of Oddity have a lived a down trodden and difficult life.

Again, not true. A freak’s inked body art is not a sign of a hard life but a life well mapped and lived!

Freaks come and all shapes and sizes and we arrive always in an unusual manner. Sometimes by foot with a pair of Converse sneakers circa 1950’s style. Sometimes by virtue of a squad car. And, sometimes, by two-wheeled motored percussion.

My two-wheeled instrument of travel Black Betty, is a moped. This freak and her bike, like many others, choose moped-ing not because I had a wish to be different but because I adore the feeling of free-falling.

My family of Freaks is given to me due to loyal misfit findings not particularly by blood. Freaks always know the value of the following statement:

‘Those who betray us are often persons of ‘relative’ importance!’

In the mid 80’s with a great deal of difficulty my path of seeking Freaks and their Roadside Attractions, took a detour to normalacy…as we understand it to be.

I became bored, listless and lacking in color. In short, I became a part of the problem not the piece of the solution.

Like a dirty dog out of pond scum water…I quickly shook free of the changes of conformity. It was not much later that I found myself another off the beaten path Roadside Attraction…teaching myself to write left handed…just because I could!

 

House by the Side of the Road

 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat
Nor hurl the cynic’s ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish – so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.