Journal Entry of Old.

I’ve been going through my Sketch Books and Journals like a Mad Man, trying to piece together my Adventures and Creative Experiences over the last 16 years or so. The other day I fould this on a type-written page in one of the Books from 2002:

08-23-02 I made the mistake of running up a hill in Colorado. I ran through the woods to surprise the Ladies but they sighted me first and were non-plussed anyway. I got out of breath, though, because of the Altitude. I was winded. I tried to walk it off. Back at the Cabin, I peed off the top of the deck into a cool wind, with the Sun on my back, the Continental Divide out before me and the crackle and popping of Frisbee Golfers in the woods below. Now I am eating a cinnamon-raisin bagel with standard cream cheese and pork slices (Mmmmmm-mmmm!). Last night on this same deck (built on a roof-top in Wunder Vu, CO), beneath a Full Moon and shooting stars and fast purple clouds, back lit by the Moon whenever they crossed Her glow-in-the-dark visage, George told me he’d “Probably get into Middle Eastern Music really quickly, if it wasn’t for Snake Oil’s music!” It’s more of a hazy day now, high in the Evergreens. In the distance I see a green tin-roofed Log Cabin and a lake whoose level is very low. It’s called Gross Resevoir and they say it is “Gross” because it’s all low and muddy. Before my eyes, all of Heaven flies by. The Plain below, towards Denver, looks lost in the smog of thousands of acres on fire. We are going to hit some Peaks to-day, on our way to Steam Boat Springs. I’m prepared, though, I got my Egg-mattrels, got my Grill! Colorado! Chief Hosa Jest!

10-18-02 My dream of having Cake has come true! I was eating Gator and Catfish and Hush-puppies and French-frites, when I saw a Girl go by with two dark brown slices, wrapped inside of a napkin (carrying them off to share with a sweetie or cohort of somesort, no doubt). My eyes followed her in amazement and then cut a swath back to the table from whence She originated. There it was! Two types of Cake, sliced! One kind that was iced and one, which was Banana Bread style. Foley and I are cramming slices of cake down our necks and talking to Roberta, the Masseuse. She is here at the Festival to enjoy it, rather than working, giving out Massages, which is very enjoyable to other folks. Roberta might go on tour with Tarzan Ego’s Giant Omni Fume in early November, which would be the only reason She would miss our Hallowe’en Party. I met Patty-O’s friend Jackie from Atlanta near the Porta-Johns. I sneezed and She blessed me and introduced herself. I am both below and by a tree. Above, through the haze, caused by wood smoke from 1,000 open fires and dust being kicked up and a mist rising from the warm-earth as the air cools, is a big, fat Moon shining down on me and the Flames and a Lazer-beams and all kinds of Happy Folks congratulating themselves in a celebratory manner. Michelle and Caroline are dancing and Beefie is clapping in his manic, rhythmic way, Festus is a swaying loopily, Martha, like a Turlte dancing with flinging braids, Jenny Walker and Ball Hill and GSP and other wigglers join in. Let’s not beat around the Keg here, we are going way beyond English as Donna the Buffalo pumps out their familiar feel-good combination of musical themes. Now is the time, after the final DTB song goes off, when Golf-carts, full of revelers, and bicycles and runners, walkers and crawlers go by. Shufflers, mumblers, smokers, pokers. All types of folks leaving the Main Stage area go by. They leave with chairs and coolers and every now and then, a person clad only in shorts or a bikini bathing suit, with dust-covered bodies and bare-feet, goes by. And in the distance and through the fog, colored by lights and glittery twinkles, comes a faint hint of jangly music playing, an homage to some long-gone Era. I think it comes from the one of the Food Booths across the Field. I feel so irresponsible, I lost my Air Whale! He was tethered to a Hippy. I thought I saw him behind a tree, but it may have only been a mirage. Scramble Capbell painted one painting for five hours to-night in a Snake-Oil-Fish-with-Human-Teeth T-Shirt!


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