far fucking out!

p. 37 blank p. 38 (April ’72) The moon is nearing full My birthday is soon Who is that Who keeps feeling so sad? I mock him. The stones tumpled on the dry hill grass The crisp black trees bristle A graveyard forest waiting for the summer rain Tiny cold stream slowly sinking gravel rocks parching speckled like a quail egg Plants crowding closer to the water stream getting thicker in the vein A trillion grass skeletons in hordes like dry armies glowing beige clumps among the heavy fractured stone maya’s diapers drying on the grass laced sand near the stream below the hillside graveyard forest stabbing crisp fingers into the electric turquoise sky backdropped by a row of camelback sandy mountains A fuzzy light tan skin sloughed off the rock One of the underlying stone ships Twelve afloat on the molten core There’s no reason to feel sad anymore p. 39 contains a drawing that goes with the last page’s poem. We were camped there. p. 40 Sitting in the back seat of the crew-cab pickup above the small cold spring running in the left side of the wide gravel bed, if you’re looking upstream. Our camp is a ring of rocks and a grate, a tarp, carpet pad and red sac de couchage. Maya and Valerie are upstream, under a great alder which leans on its elbows and has a cross carved in its trunk, and whitened with lime many years ago, probably while the clump of washed-down remains of one adobe wall was still a house. These mountains bump on into Mexico – just a stoned throw away – and become the central spine of the converging continent. Ironwood trees, creosote brush and jumping cactus keep a person careful. Dry grasses don’t regrow, they just get green from bottom up when the rains come. Drank sweet wine for breakfast. Thought about the letter from Ellen which was waiting at the P.O. when we limped into Arivaca with our Gen light on since before Green Valley. Ed, the Mechanic at the General Store, helped me put in new brushes for the generator and gave me a voltage regulator from his old junk Murcury wagon. Still didn’t work right so we started for our camp with some sun left because the lights would be too much drain on the battery – which was all the energy the truck was cooking on. Just then, Maxie – an old colored dude who hangs around the white hip kids in the hills at Ruby and California Gulch. Drunk: “Boy! Have I be ballin’ for two days. I don’t even know where ah bin.” “Say, kin y’all take me up to my camp? You now” Maxwell and Jackson’s gold camp. Cone on up there, I’ll show you a trailer with a soft bed you can live in.” No Maxie, I can’t use my lights because the generator went out and it will be dark soon. Aw, come-on! Ah’ll show you a place you can stay. You don’t gotta go nowhere. Valerie resistes – we’ve been driving all day and we just want to be alone. You can be alone there. Ain’t no one gonna bother you. All your kind of people know me. I’m Maxie! There some other people up there of the psychic religion just like you are. He says it’s about two miles. I look at the sun still clearing the western mountains. OK, we’ll drive you up there, get in. As soon as we turn onto the dirt road south out of Arivaca, Maxie says,”Hey, wouldja stop here for a minute? I stashed a bottle of port here. Lookat that car over under the cottonwood; been there all day with a flat tire. Ain’t got it fixed yes. He totters down into the dry gulch along the roadside jerking his thin graying head one way then the other in search of the port. After awhile he comes back to the car then turns his back on us pissing, “in respek for the lady and the baby” while Maya pukes on the dirt. Teething and driving in the heat from Ed Malazo’s red dirt marijuana homestead near the Navajo’s land out of Winslow. “Ah know where I put it. It’s down under that big cottonwood ther. You drive on down.” “Get in Maxie and we’ll go get it”. Finally, he finds it and we’re on our way to Maxwell and Jackson’s Gold Camp, with the sun getting down near the hils. It turns out to be a good distance on rough dusty roads. As we get close, Maxie is trying to get us to stay there with him and the other people of the psychic religion. When I finally come down on him and say, “I’m turning around right here”, Maxie says, “Take me back into town with Y’all”. We race back down the road, too fast for the bumps. We pass the car with the flat. Maxie notes that the fella still ain’t fixed that flat. When we get to the Arivaca crossroads, it’s nearly dark, and I’m pissed. But Maxie isn’t finished. “Say, wouldja tke me out to where you stay?” “Listen, Maxie, this is where you stay.” “Alright, but I just want to help you.” “I’m trying to help myself!” “I’ll tell you something a lot of people in town know.” “OK, Maxie, tell me and then we hafta go.” “I’m a millionaire.” “Far out! – See you later.” “Listen, I’m concerned for the lady and the baby; just let me help. I’m concerned!” “Me too. Bye!” Well, somehow this has to all tie in with the working through to what was beneath the religious bullshit of Bill Bosco, Pat Brown, Barbara Rosen, Russell Schuyler and even Margie Kirkham. 5-4-72 Went to sleep watching the stars in their clockwise rotation relative to the sun even though the earth’s rotation makes them move counter-clockwise to us. Had a dream – fragments: A Jane Eiseman [an old friend, girlfriend for flirting, lesbian. anthro major at SF State, who later earned her way to a degree at UC – Davis, my alma mater by prostituting] and Peter Aceves [friend and music-making partner at IU, Bloomington] amalgam, was in a ship-like setting. I was in a theater where a movie was shown. Saw Jane, wanted to talk to her. She had the key to internal …(X?)…. She was also in the movie. Couldn’t get through the crowd. A map of the highway to Hawaiian Islands. Valerie and I looked at it. Across the half-surfaced land which was in the process of flowing or had stopped flowing just beneath the surface. It was like the land to come. Jane was somehow also an enemy or alien to the officers of the ship who she was supposed to be working for as a kind of spy. She felt paranoid; that they suspected her difference. 6 May To fill in all the pathways of the story to which is alluded in Bloomington and Tuscon, to hurry up and catch the present which rapidly illuminates the play just over. Jump right here leaving Tuscon east on US 10 to Lordsburg, where a heavy argument between Valerie and john lasted the whole way to Truth and Consequences. The generator which Tony helped change in Arivaca burnt out in front of a Safeway in south Albuquerque and I changed it, and the voltage regulator, again. Then we passed Santa Fe toward Pilar and Taos impelled by Clea and Patrick. [I don’t remember what this alludes to!] The weirdest adobe suburb began right after Santa Fe: the human world became an old adobe western stage and the people in a best-of-all-possible-cultural-worlds; distinct real illusion unanimity. We were from the outside. Valerie got severe gas pains and a sharp aching in her right shoulder. And now we are in Casa de Taos Motel San Luis, Colorado p. 44 Yesterday morning we barely got the check cashed in time to get Val and Maya on a plane to Phoenix and hopefully Eugene. While we waited in the airport, Maya got a fat important man to sit on the floor and talk to her while she dropped pennies in a cup. Back in the city alone, at the new hippy store, I did some yoga, had a smoke and went for a walk, only to find that I was encircled by police officers. I quickly withdrew into the hip store – an old house – and laid my weary soul down on the waterbed to catch the sleep I lost driving from Pecos to here in the night. In a few minutes the hippy owner was waking me up telling me if he let me sleep there then all the Indians would be mad because he won’t let them sleep there. So I went back out with the other Indians. Over on the campus, there was a pow-wow dance on the way, for money. I walked out to find the night upon me and asked a fellow if he know a place to sleep just as the police car I had been skillfully dodging pulled up. The lid in my pocket alarmed me awhile, but then he invited me to sleep and have breakfast at the jail. But I took up the offer of the dormitory. There I spent the night in the TV room where tough cowboy students watched, and made loud noises about, a late-night movie. When I woke to find the janitor dusting and tossing me an Indian head nickel off the floor, I knew it was morning. p. 46 While I was on the sunny side of the gorge, the Hoover Dam blinded me in its reflectin. I sat bare-breasted facing the sun in intense concentration worrying only about the sign painted on the wall on which I sat breathing the air was more because the bare auburn stone stood in perfect contrast And now the park ranger has given me an image To project on my meaning to obey the sign KEEP OFF THE WALL to protect me from the long rocky cliff through the air to the water in sunwarmth deep and chily my body sunwarmed so I left to sit here and now on an outcrop above the curve below from the dam which brings water to carry motorboats and spirits bottles but now faced the other side. I see deep calm water in depths of stone auburn gorges half a mile below at an angle the cold flow Rolls padded from the rocky crevice here and there by green grass coves amid lofty stone castles marching to Mexico not needing water to determine their course lines answering the push of the universe creating the earth hummmmmmmmmmmmmm p. 47 The best possible logic for the development of the town above the rim of the canyon over the dam, since the biggest part of its exploitable capital potentially available is transient, is to build a perfect funnel for the highway and do our part in helping the poor rich American by skimming off his excess wealth with healthy and health-giving business Yes, I love that you’re not here Yes, I love and I am here and it’s here I love and fear. Yes, I love it’s you it’s here. Yes, it’s you I fear and love Yes it’s you and love and fear. p. 48 May 11, 1972 Since the last full moon began to wane I knew that if I pushed down a little a=on this last half before the new moon, the entrance into the next cycle would be a new… And I didn’t know, a new what? but I responded and here in the moon mountains the sun sand moon have set together pulling our small planet into a sea of stars in a red clay bowl with a chipped rim. As it darkened, I had found a spot on the inside of the bowl among rocks burnt glazed. strewn slope of craggy skyline above it glowing azure turquoise to deep night center to dim east alone right on the earth’s bared self May 12 Drank some window [LSD] water this morning about 50 miles south of Las Vegas when I woke up in the crystal clear bowl of bare-ass strong mountains of eternity. Drove north thru the gigantic rocks washed down to immense fluvial slopes throwing the concept of level ground into the sphere of the surreal. Then across the westgarde pass where death valley southward marks the great riff between the Desert chain of barren inscentient sentinels of glazed auburn iron and the suddenly standing away off – seemed somehow below down a long series of slopes and barren mountain chains dwarfed in the riff itself – I was struck so intensely by the snow-lined craggy Sierras capped by pine and cedar forests at the shoulders Bristlecone Pine Pass, world’s oldest living thing. I sat and meditated on them down in the distance high above the world. I sat on the unlined highway in the desert sun naked inhaling pure life each stop was made on the way through the two immense chains dwarfed in the riff each real place desert bare rock crystal crumble on my back on the road then dry cedar forests a spring on the downhill side of the last pass on a perilous beautiful road sweet cold water flowing from the mountain slope into the crevice I geared down Splashing tingling icy water feom burnth stone walls caught in a cement trough flowing over its lip into the rivulet sipped by the delicate strong hardwood grove there I planted four seeds in a mound a hand’s breadth form the pebble-moss where the water flowed One on the dry side, one down, one up on the mound and one up and down stream Splashed and drank and washed the red dust filled my radiator my battery Scrubbed hair dry cold wind warm sun firm hardwood of light etched bark and delicate sturdy leaves I drank my naked belly swollen And finished the trip to Bishop Far Fucking Out! Round valley then up 3,000 feet to the pass into the heart of the Sierra To Bishop Newspaper Advertisement for ourself A young family wishing ot make a life work We want to lease land to raise a goatherd And an adequate garden With option to buy it with another twenty acres if we can begin to take root In you beautiful valley Now saving money on Oregon To settle in the place we felt ourself in Show us the beginning John Allison High St. Eugene