Old Hippie, Old Hippie Songs


The human among the abode…Among us…So real.  So real.  As though, we would not know normal if it flew up, and slapped us in the face.

What an ugly word…flawed?

So caustic…yet, this house was built upon it.

Handicapped brick and mortar…stacked in the most irregular manner.

Inch by foot

Pallets of disability…covered with hairline fractures of pride.

As the years grow older and higher…there is still a dog and a cat…on the lawn.

Still, two old hippies on the deck…

singing the same old hippie songs.

t n b 1To run from the mess…now…

we would have to pack the home and leave.

All the bumps in the night

All the aches and groans in the wind…

All that normal tells us not to…believe.



Junk Yards


…The room further our had a smell of hummus and patchouli.  The hallway, leading into the ‘unnamed’ room?  Bare from top to bottom, such as, what someone would find in an office building filled with accountants.

The ‘unnamed’ room had been loving called such because it had seen more than it’s share…More than a living room does.  More than a kitchen does.  And, perhaps, more than a bathroom.

It was New Year’s Eve day, 1988.  The small for it’s size, apartment building/dorm/co-ed frat house, sat close enough to Northeastern, but not too close.  More importantly, while up on the roof on a clear night…not only could you see forever, you could see the ‘green monster’ that out stretches Fenway Park.

radio shack

In it’s heyday, the ‘unnamed’ room most likely housed a large Irish Catholic family.  Currently, it’s tin ceilings were decked out in an array of tapestries…made in Bangladesh.  An over stuffed couch, bound by duct tape, originally from Kenmore square with a free sign pinned to it’s arm.

There were several Lava lamps of various fluorescent colors.  One stand up model Bong.  Several packages of opened and unopened Zig Zag rolling papers.  Even more than enough…Bic lighters.  A calico cat named Garcia.  An episode of Gilligan’s Island playing on a black and white RCA TV, approximately 12″ tall.  The sound had been turned down…but everyone knew the episode.  It was a favorite among Potheads…

‘Smile You’re on Mars’ had been in a tie with Twilight Zone…when it came to stretching the outer limits of the philosophical mind.

With all of this…exterior stimuli…And, a Dead bootleg from Sullivan Stadium turned to 10 on the Radio Shack tape player…Marie, still felt alone in the bathtub!

Marie, two boys from Northeastern and a black lab, named, Duke, stood in the bathroom directly at the end of the only other hallway.

For as long as she could remember, and most likely will recall in the years to come…Marie started each chase of a high…the same exact way.  With the same exact thoughts…zig-zag1

“I get embarrassed just thinking about where I am.  Every high I chase is not something I want to take…it’s just a given.  And, it would appear, I’m in a constant search for the ‘giver’.  I know I’m an addict.  It’s like the elephant in the room no one wants to talk about.

Been down this road before…almost totally fucked up.  Right there at the edge of no return…and, then…The memories of that first rehab.  That weekend furlough where I picked up the black truck driver who had smuggled in an ounce of weed.

Why is it, when you’re physically sick, there are matronly nurses, flowers and balloons?  In the shithole I went to…being emotionally sick…there had been vomit bags, decks of cards missing at least two spades, and, walls stained with too much smoke…”

In between the knock on the door and Duke lifting his leg on the sink, Marie had been offered a sort of ‘peace’ pipe.

‘Do it…it’ll bring ya’ into heaven on the back road…’

A nameless boy had been, oh so encouraging, when it came to taking a hit of the Iron Lung pipe.

Names were never important when it came to free drugs.  Looks were important.  And, also, a willingness to succumb to ‘you’re interrupting my high’ sex!

There is an unwritten hierarchy when it comes to the ‘becoming’ of an addict.

First, there is the booze.  Booze is easy.  Booze is acceptable.  Booze is cheap.

Second, Liquid Incense, Buzz Juice, easily obtained at any Head Shop.  Quick high…ten to twenty seconds.  Days of recuperation.

Third, Pot, weed, grass, Mary Jane, whatever…a drug of choice to catholic girls.  Cheap, easy to hide and fits nicely into the pack of Marlboro Red’s…

Fourth, mushrooms, shrooms, again, easy access.  Just visit your local dairy farm impersonating an agriculture student from New England College.

Fifth, LSD, blotter, acid.  This drug is like the ‘last toll’ for 100 miles.  This is it!  LSD is a chemical substance developed by Albert Hoffman.  Acid, originally, had been devised for chemical warfare.  It should be noted that Blotter, is cut with Strychnine, rat poisoning!

Two items of note:

Strychnine can cause severe muscle spasms and irreversible scarring of the liver and kidney.

The second, more disturbing side effect for the Tuning In Enthusiast?  A bad trip.  Because the drug has never really been regulated, hallucinations and uncontrollable terror, confusion, etc, come to visit you…and never leave.

This elusive high was known to drive, Crazy Eddie, up into a tree, never to come down…at least, that is the urban legend, Marie had been told.

In other words, a long strange trip can indeed,,,turn into a forever, long strange trip.

Regardless, Marie enjoyed the out of body experience and was willing to play the odds.

After Blotter, there is Coke, cocaine.  After, Powder, Crack cocaine…a step down.  A poor man’s drug.  Then there is H or Heroin.

Of course, there scads of choices, but the ‘Monarch’ notes on drugs can be endless.


It had been in between the verses…

Now when your mother sends back all your invitations
And your father to your sister, he explains
That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations…


Maybe you want somebody you don’t have to speak to
Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?

That, Marie took pipe in hand.  Held the Beaver Bic up to the chamber, flicked, shut her eyes…inhaled…

that Marie, out of nowhere asked,

‘Is this the hash…that just came in?’

Nameless Boy number one, answered.  The boy that just gave Marie his BU, stone gray sweatshirt;  had been from Rhode Island or some place small.  Maybe Delaware!


With one boyishly, charming nod of the head, NO!  Marie, began to think twice.  A habit she was not fond of doing.  Handing back the pipe to it’s owner.  Marie stumbled out of the tub, fell over Duke, and banged her head on the lid of the toilet.  It appeared as though…Marie had seen a ghost.

Was she tripped up?  Fuck, yah.  Had she smoked a joint to prolong the hallucinations?  Amen, yes!  Was she ready to finish a game of Mexican?  Sure as shittin’!  There was still a half of Jack left!

Marie, however, did not take that last, long, forever, and ever, eternal hit.

“Crack?  I’m not up for that!  I’m an addict…for fuck sake!”

Had the seed been planted?  Perhaps!  Is that what it takes…to get sober?  What made her stop?

Maybe that is how recovery works…by not working.  By prying, pushing,..tugging at its victim…until the time is right.


junk yards 2.jpg






Junk Yards


Tears out running laughter.

Prosthetic limbs handled by the pain sniffing feral crackheads.

Bakers dozen when it comes to counting the sleepless dead.

Baggies of junk

filled by money makers.

In it now…

with blown veins…

brought to you by heaven’s break down lane.

junk yards 1

Did I say that I want you?
What if I did and I’m a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
I come clean

Read more: Pearl Jam – Just Breathe Lyrics | MetroLyrics





resin 1

With every strand of falling lock

With every steppin’ stone,


all the hours spent not heaven-sent.

One second consumed by things of..

regret…trite though it may be…

steal the dreams by day,resin 2

can blur the scene that frames the way.

Still life with disarray.

Glad tidings of happy old age.

All just rehearsal for the grand stage.

Who cares about electric blue star-dust,

luminaries with cashmere mittens,

andresin 3

moon beam hippies?

Perhaps, those who careless about the ages…

Post beatnik sages.

Resin renaissances.

Romantic resonators.


You, Beautiful Boy…John Lennon.

john 1


Had it been a colder winter, would Vicki been more aware of the day, the time…the shift of wind, to the subtle change of the earth’s emotions?  A typical day, no matter the season had been a hippie rainbow, splashed with a tie dye of skeleton, neon green and pink…

Typical?  No, no, fuckin’ way!  The day played out in the 13 year old’s, tainted by peace and love, screw the establishment…, mind.  This time though, it had been  recorded in tears.  Similar to looking at that larger than life, black-light, poster of Elvis, in a pantsuit…one toke shy of a good high!elvis

Sitting, lotus style on the shag carpeting of Lynn’s bedroom, attempting to really understand the true meaning of…


Terry Jack’s; Seasons in the Sun


A wonderful song about dying, the rebirth of spring and the friends we leave behind.

At the time, as two rebel freaks adverse to conformity…Vicki and Lynne only thought of the song as a sad good-bye to their childhood.  As it was certain, once High School began, the end poetically and physically, would be near.

Yet, none of that silly lonely life felt by many of similar breed and congruent thought mattered…For down below, in the bowels of the ancient home, sat, Lynne’s brother, Eddie.

Eddie, posted upon a stool made of stolen milk crates, smiled a mad-dog grin…as he and his buddies, banged out

Stairway to Heaven!

It hadn’t been that the band played poorly.  It wasn’t that the four mop-heads didn’t somehow resemble Muppet Puppets.   The simple fact had been, those fools just were not cool!  Anyway you cut it!  Those white boys had no rhythm and certainly, no style!

Vicki and Lynn cranked that hot pink record player.  So often had the needle been manually brought back to go that…well…one verse repeated itself over and over and over again.

Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family

No matter the loudness of the house.  No matter a child’s play at bettering the current situation.  No matter, the pleas, the tears and the questions…the ‘just give me some truth,’ could not be tucked away.

John Lennon, the prince of peace, the maker of all love, the heart and soul of a collective few living in a small New Hampshire city, tucked away in the middle class, had been killed the night before.

It had been a Monday night, 10:50 p.m., 1980!

John 2

The next day, with songs cranked, with outrage pouring out of every Yukon Jack bottle, with Vicki and Lynne attempting to drown their fears in the therapy of music…with all this…a handful of mourners headed for the capital.  One of these walking tributes to all that John Lennon could Imagine, had been Lynne’s mother.  Decked out with beaded vest, bell bottom Tough Skins…faded just right, and a pair of knee high, ‘knock me down and show me a good time’ black leather boots: Lynne’s mother made Stevie Nicks look like a girl scout in training.

And, it was on this day, Tuesday, December 9th, 1980…between the blue grass music being tortured by an all bad male band, and, the young ladies quietly paying respect through lyrics…Lynne’s mother lay entombed in her bedroom to distraught to go to work.

Odd, years later, Vicki would visit the Orpheum theater in Boston to see,  the Plastic Ono band.  She would be high on technicolor and acid!  She would not remember much of that night.  She would remember, Yoko’s acknowledgement of her long lost husband.  And, she would remember that day…a handful of years back…

That day, when within her little world of Peace, Love and Happiness, she learned of  new emotions.  Terror and pure hate!  To the current day, Vicki could not bring herself to read, ‘Catcher in the Rye’, she could not capitalize on anything relating to John’s death.  No new and recently found works of Lennons‘…posthumously!

Fading to black in the very back row of the Orpheum theater, weirdness abound, with necklaces made of Barbie Doll parts, Hippies zoned out on weed, the sweet smell corroding the walls…a simple verse is all that Vicki could recall…

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend

We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we’ve climbed hills and trees

john 3


All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say
And all that you eat
And everyone you meet (everyone you meet)
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that’s to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

Pink Floyd – Eclipse Lyrics | MetroLyrics