1951 - 2000
(new in bold)
1. Fred to Ross 2/01
2. Kaushal to Fred ?/81
3. Kaushal to Peyto 7/84
4. Kaushal to the Yellins 4/88
5. Kaushal to Fred 10/89
6. Kaushal to Fred 1/91
7. Kaushal to Fred 3/96
8. Kaushal to Emily 9/97
9. Kaushal to Annie 12/98
10. Kaushal to Friends 1/99
11. Kaushal to Peyto 2/99
12. Kaushal to Peyto spring '99
13. Kaushal to Fred spring '99
14. Kaushal to Israel (undated)
15. Kaushal to Fred 7/00
16. Drain River Poetry Collective 1975-1979
rubber rafter watchdog
the future of the shift
graphic by Kaushal
17. nine to Christina 5/97 - 5/98
photo by Fred
18. six to Ross '89 - '97
19. conscientious objector application 11/70
20. Ross to Fred with photo
From: Fred Nemo
Sent: Monday, February 19, 2001
To: 'Ross Barkley'
Subject: Kaushal's works
koshal claimed to remember me from reed college c. 1967, but i could never quite place him there. we both hung out there rather than attended. got to know him well in portland c. 1971 through a notorious mutual friend robert. many brilliant encounters ensued, mostly in portland, remote rural oregon, and once or twice elsewhere. we mutually invented a form of communal poetry wherein each person - the larger the group the better - supplies the successive word in strict rotation. i still have a couple of dozen of these documents from the middle 70's, though i lost all of his letters up to '84 in a house-fire, worst luck.
i once ran into him, having not seen him for a couple of years, on telegraph avenue in berkeley, where he was playing a 3-note harmonium and singing for alms. business was slow, so i felt it would be ok to sit in, as it were, in the form of rhythmic hand-clapping and full-body gyration. business, wierdly and miraculously, picked up...
anyhow, we corresponded desultorially for near to 30 years, his last letter to me the day before he left us (see below), and on his occasional swings through the northwest, i would almost every time manage to connect, however briefly and mercurially, with him.
what a scalliwag!
IT WAS A SLIM WHIM WITH A FAT CHANCE OF SUCCEEDING BUT I TOOK IT ANYWAY. THE STREAMLINE SWAM BEFORE MY EYES AND I KNEW I HAD TO TAKE A DIVE. I WAS ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE WITHOUT A PADDLE TO MY NAME. IT WAS CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR AND THEN THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. THEN ANOTHER, AND AGAIN. THEY WERE DROPPING LIKE FLIES IN A SUGARBOWL WITH GEORGIA LEADING AT THE HALF. THE CARDS WERE STACKED AGAINST ME THAT NIGHT MY NUMBER CAME UP...
WIPING HIS BROW WITH THE PALM OF HIS HAND HE REALIZED WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE BY THE SKIN OF HIS TEETH HE WAS HANGING BY HIS FINGERNAILS BY THE SEAT OF HIS PANTS ON THE EDGE OF HIS SEAT. THE OTHER FOOT ... DROPPED.
ONCE; WHEN I WAS HITCH-HIKING, I GOT PICKED UP BY THIS GUY WHO CALLED HIMSELF COLLECT. I WATCHED AS HE LEFT THE DRIVING TO US. HE GOT A BUSY BODY SIGNAL. HE WAS HUNG UP TO TRY AGAIN LATER. I TRYED TO REASSURE HIM THE ONLY WAY I KNEW HOW ... LIKE A FOREIGN DOCTOR WHO COULDN'T SPEAK TO SAVE HIS LIFE BUT THREW A MEAN CURVE I CUT THE LINE. (SPARKS FLAPPING IN THE BREEZE, LOTS OF PUDDLES, MOTEL SIGN OFF, DROOPED CLOUDS AND RAIN. MAYBE THIS WAS FLORIDA!)
THE DOOR SLAMMED SQUISH AS THE TIRES CALLED THE TUNE. ALL DAY LATER ... PEOPLE MUST HIT THE ROAD! THE COPS PULLED HIM OVER. OH; BY THE WAY; I'M CHANGING MY NAME WHEN THE COPS PULL ME OVER TOO. I WAS JUST CHANGING MY NAME ... NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT, IS THERE?
WITH AN ANGULAR (JOCULAR) JUGULAR MENACE HE ASKED ME FOR SOME [I.D.] I TOLD HIM I HAD SOME BUT I HAD JUST CHANGED MY NAME. WHAT IS IT, HE SAID ...I BLUSHED AND DROPPED MY EYES. LOWERED THEM ACTUALLY, AND SAID PULLED APART; MY NAME IS MANIFEST. WHAT? NO. MANNY FESTO FROM FLORIDA. YEAH.
SEE WHAT SOON KAUSHAL
SAY HI TO VIOLET AND BILL AND CRISSY AND MELITA AND BOB AND CLARENCE AND BILLY AND GARRICK AND MELITA AND CARLA AND ESPECIALLY KATHY AND ALSO THE CABIN AND JOEY AND NOW DO YA DOOT
Everyday I get up and wish I was somewhere else but then I realize how ridiculous that is and so I go make a cup of strong coffee and watch the early morning news on CBS and than I wish I was on another planet! But that's foolish too, so I spend the rest of the day looking and searching for reasons to be glad and grateful to be alive and you know what? ...
I always find those reasons!!!
I love you and Sihu too?
Strength grows in action?
4/14/88 (Holocaust Remembrance Day)
It has reached a point where post-cards won't suffice. I have waited on this letter until I had a slightly clearer perspective of what was happening here with me and with us.
Here is a very brief synopsis:
I arrived after a smooth flight to be greeted at the bottom of the steps by an Israeli Security Guard who ushered me into a security van parked nest to the plane. Intense but friendly questioning which centered on my intentions here and why I had a one-way ticket and who I knew here and suddenly I took out the Tom Yellin/Jerusalem/David Yellin photo and said: "Look, here is a street in Jerusalem named after my Great Uncle and so please let me in" and it was like magic. I was in!
Met outside by two friends and ushered in true Israeli style (hitch-hiking) to a small house in the Carmel Mountains south of Haifa, in an Artist's Community founded by some Jewish Dadaist artists in 1948. And we have a house here built by a potter. No electricity and eccentric design. And a telephone, a telephone which is constantly ringing with co-ordination plans and nouvelle ideas.
Then I went to Jerusalem for 15 hours during Purim, which requires a whole letter of itself.
But the purpose of this letter is to inform you of what is happening to the first cult in history that has tried (is trying) to deprogram itself!!! Yes, I say cult, Patterson's cult. All the awful dirt is coming out: All the child beatings and sexual abuse and psychological power grindings and mis-informed scriptural opinions and musical fascisms and smothered talents and all the dirt. Things that I knew about and many things I only suspected but it is all coming out and I feel justified because during all these years I have left 13-14 times for the very reasons that have finally been brought to the light. And yes, it was a cult. And yes, people were brainwashed just like you read about with Jim Jones and Rajaneesh and The Marine Corps and The Catholic Church, except it was couched in the neo-psychedelic terminology. But it's very interesting because these are my friend and I do believe in living communally and playing music in prisons and peace and brotherhood and all the things which we are now setting out to do without the heavy macho-psychotic hand of Thomas Patterson Brown gripping tight on the jugular of our innocence.
I can't even begin to delineate the phenomenon of a group of sincere people realizing the error of their collective ways and trying to salvage what is the baby and throw away the bathwater with finality. I remember the night before I left Memphis, talking with you about some of the problems I had with Patterson and how I was confident that after all these years things were going to change but little did I realize the extent of those changes!
Patterson and Chris and (unfortunately) Bob and a few others are camped-out down in the Negev Desert, crouching under meager shade trees waiting for either the world to end this week or airplane tickets to India or both. There are a few girls with them who go to the nearest town to panhandle for food and provide for Patterson's absolutely insatiable sexual appetite (à la Rasputin) and he has now been confronted with the fact that 80 people have drawn the line and are refusing to follow him anymore. As of this letter he has not exhibited even the slightest sign of remorse or humility and therefore he holds an empty bag?
(This is very dramatic and will make a great chapter in my forthcoming (?) auto-bio tentatively titled "Headlines and Footnotes")
Of course, we now are faced with certain self-realizations some of which are rather painful but necessary, and things are in a state of de-compression and flux but basically the situation is thus:
1. No plan to go to India any time soon
2. Small houses thru-out Israel where we can house the kids and each other
3. Music and Video after all this time are still possible (whew!)
4. A Hostel for Pilgrims (in Jerusalem)
5. Re-assessment of all dogmatic-seeming information
6. Apologies all around for mis-treatment and mis-leading communication
7. I need new shoes and a sleeping bag
8. No more Apocalyptic rantings
9. I hope I can write better and more gooder English stuff
10. I would like to learn Hebrew
I feel honored to have a life which is not boring and I hope to make something worthwhile out of it still. This phase has been bizarre and tragic and educational and it is not over yet. Patterson's actions have been getting worse and it is quite clear that he is losing his mind. This is a small country with a very volatile mix of aspirations already and though we have distanced ourselves physically from him; it will take a little time to recover from the years of abuse. Bu the soul is, above all things, resilient and so we face the future with vim and vigor.
My immediate plan is to go to Jerusalem next week for a few days. We have been given a house there, which will be used to house and feed people. Other houses are in the works but the mail situation is still too tentative (post rest ante). I'm sorry but I'm moving around still and until I have a secure address there must be this one-way traffic. If there is an emergency please call (4)841-707. What a drag this is!!! Not to Worry?
I Love You,
WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE TICK-TOCK? WHY DOES IT TAKE A MIRACLE TO MOVE MOUNTAINS? IS THERE A FIRE IN THE LIBRARY? WILL THE INHERITANCE SPOIL US? THE HEIRS DISSOLUTE? IS THERE A MORAL IMPERATIVE? DID POLLY FIND A BEAU? A PEN? A ROD? IS SEVENTEEN THE PERFECT AGE? WHAT ABOUT THE 17TH CENTURY? WHAT ABOUT THE IRISH QUESTION? WHAT THE HECK IS HEAVY WATER? WHY DID THE DANISH RESIST AND THE NORWEGIANS CAPITULATE? CAN SEXUAL PERVERSION CLEANSE THE SOUL LIKE DE SADE SAID? WHAT DID HE KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING DEEP ANYWAY? WHY HAS THERE NEVER, EVER, BEEN A GREAT FRENCH ROCK GROUP? WAS VAN GOGH REALLY IMPRESSIONABLE? WHAT IS THE ORIGIN OF THE TERM: SUCKER? DID YOU GET THE BOOK I SENT YOU? WHAT'S FOR LUNCH? HOW CAN I EXPLAIN? DOES LEAD-FREE GAS WORK? GOT A LIGHT? IF ALL THE CURRENT PROBLEMS IN THE WORLD WERE REDUCED TO THEIR MOST BASIC COMPONENT, WHAT WOULD THAT BE? IS THE VILLAIN RENE DESCARTES? ARE AL CAPONE AND GURU MAHARAJI, THE PERPETUAL 14 YEAR-OLD, RELATED? WHEN DO I GET AN ANSWER TO THESE (AND COUNTLESS OTHER) BURNING QUESTIONS?
FRED, OBVIOUSLY I NEED HELP ... SERIOUS, DEEP, PSYCHOLOGICAL HELP. ONLY NOW, IN THE RELATIVE CALM OF THE DESERT, WHERE A MAN IS A MAN, A ROCK IS A ROCK AND A CAMEL A BURDENSOME QUIRK; HAVE I BEEN ABLE TO REALIZE JUST HOW PERVASIVE IS MY MALADROIT INQUISITIVITY AND PERNICIOUS QUEST FOR DETAIL AND STABILITY A HINDER AND NOT A BOON ... YOU SEE, I CAN'T EVEN WRITE A RATIONAL SENTENCE! FRED, ONLY YOU CAN HELP ME ... I KNOW IT'S A LOT TO ASK ... MAYBE YOU SIMPLY DON'T HAVE THE TIME OR THE INCLINATION ... BUT IF THERE BE A DIM GLIMMER OF COMPASSION FOR ME, IN MY PLIGHT, THEN ALL I ASK IS A POST CARD ... WERE SACCO AND VANZETTI GUILTY? IS WHEEL OF FORTUNE RIGGED??? ARE WE TURNING JAPANESE? JAVANESE? FRED, HELP!
SINCERELY, MARK JONES
MORNING JAN 21 (1991)
THANKS SO MUCH FROM HEARING FROM YOU AS I WASN'T FOR A WHILE AND HAD A PREMONITION THAT IF I WROTE TO YOU, YOU MIGHT GET IT RATHER THAN ETHERIZING PERMANENTLY INTO PURE MEMORY. "IF YOU CAN DIGEST YOU CAN EDIT," MY POOR SAINTED MOTHER USED TO SAY BEFORE THEY DRAGGED HER AWAY RIGHT AFTER THE TROUBLES BEGAN IN DERRY ... SHE WORKED HER KNEES TO THE BONE BEFORE ALABASTER STATUES AND WRINKLED CURIAS WITH CROSSES ... HER ONLY CRIME WAS SHELTERING...
IT'S A RUNNY WORLD...
THANKS FOR THE COLLANDER ... I USE IT TO DRAIN MY DAYS AFTER THEY'VE BOILED ... HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH A REALLY BEAUTIFUL GIRL WHEN YOU'RE BOTH WEARING GAS-MASKS? I'VE GOTTEN QUITE FOND OF MINE RECENTLY. IT'S GERMAN MADE, JUST LIKE THE CHEMICALS THAT ARE POSSIBLY COMING, SO AT LEAST ORDER HAS BEEN PRESERVED ... THEY ARE KIND OF RUBBERRY. IT'S LIKE SNIFFING RADIALS ON THE SHOWROOM FLOOR OR THE BYCYCLE SHOP WHERE MY POOR SAINTED FATHER USED TO TIGHTEN BOLTS BEFORE HE WAS CONSUMED AROUND LAST APRIL DURING THE LAST POTATOE BLIGHT ... HE WORE HIS FINGERS TO THE BONE TWISTING WING-NUTS AND WOULD COME HOME ALL COVERED IN CHAIN GREASE AND SIT IN HIS CHAIR READING THE PAPER WITHOUT WASHING HIS POOR BONY FINGERS. SO BY THE TIME I GREW UP, MY ONLY EXPOSURE TO WORLD NEWS WAS SPLOTCHY AT BEST, BECAUSE THE STAINS CONCEALED VITAL FACTS. FOR EXAMPLE, IN 1956 OR 7 THE CRUISE LINER "ANDRE ADORIA" WENT DOWN IN THE COASTAL SLUDGE WITH ALL HANDS ON DECK ... NOW, I REMEMBER IT QUITE WELL; BUT I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS THE "DREAD OREA" THAT WENT ... SEE WHAT I MEAN?
IT'S A SCUDDY WORLD...
THEY'RE PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK AT ANTHRAX JR. HIGH AGAIN. THAT BAD SADDAMN AND BUSH ARE FIGHTING AT RECESS AND THE PRINCIPAL IS PISSED. HE'S GETTING HIS PADDLE OUT AND I THINK HE'S GONNA SPANK THE WHOLE CLASS! ME; I'M GONNA GO BEHIND THE FENCE WITH MY FRIENDS, METAPHONICALLY SPEAKING, AND WAIT THIS ONE OUT ... I CAN'T JUST LEAVE BECAUSE I LEFT MY COAT AND WINGS BACK IN THE ROOM AND ANYWAY MY POOR SAINTED MOTHER WON'T BE HOME TIL 3:30 SO'S I GOTTA JUST WAIT ... SIGH ... OH, WELL THOSE GUYS (WHICH GUYS?) ARE COMPLETELY FUDGED UP AND THEY SHOULD ALL JUST GO AND FAX THEMSELVES ... HEY, WANNA MEET AFTER SCHOOL? LOVE, SURF CHUCK
DEAR FRED; DEAR FRED;
HIHI ... EVERYTHING POINTS TO THE SOURCE. WHEN THE "INSTANT REPLAY" WAS INTRODUCED, AROUND 1973 I THINK; THAT'S WHEN A CURIOUS SHIFT OCCURRED-D-D IN THE COLLECTIVE PSYCHE. THAT'S WHEN THE ECHO FINALLY SURPASSED THE GREAT YODELER AND PEOPLE BEGAN TO LOSE TRACK. THEY WAITED FOR THE REPLAY; THEY HAD TIME TO PREPARE, (GO GET A BEER) AND THEN, WITH THE NATIONS WAITING ON THE EDGE OF THEIR BARCOLOUNGERS THE REPLAY CAME AND THEY GROANED OR WHOOPED WITH THE SURE KNOWLEDGE THAT A REPLAY BRINGS. WAS IT IN? OUT? ON THE LINE? etc... and slowly the trend advanced... SOON; WE HAD RE-MAKES, AND OF COURSE, RE-RUNS, WHICH, THOUGH HAVING BEEN WITH US FOR YEARS, NOW ASSUMED A NEW ROLE IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS. (BUT WE'LL JUST LEAVE IT AT THAT. WE CAN ALWAYS "COME BACK", etc.) RE-CALL ... RE-LOAD ... RE-PEAL ... RE-DUCE ... RE-ACT ... RE-SPOON! RE-SPOON! (???)
AFTER THE REMOTE CONTROL ENTERED THE PICTURE, (CLICK ...) WE WERE DELUGED WITH MULTIPLE STRUCTURES; WARPED WITH THE LETHAL COMBINATION OF DESIRE AND POWER AND SPEED. THE CLONIC EFFECT OF, SAY: CHANNEL 6 IS SHOWING AN ELVIS MOVIE, AND CHANNEL 10 IS SHOWING A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT THE "REAL" ELVIS, AND TWO OTHER CHANNELS ARE SHOWING TWO DIFFERENT HOLLYWOOD VERSIONS OF "THE ELVIS STORY" STARRING TWO DIFFERENT ACTORS (AS WELL AS VARIOUS OTHER CAST MEMBERS, WHO ALSO HAD RE-RUNS ON VARIOUS OTHER CHANNELS OF OTHER MOVIES OR TALK-SHOWS OR etc.) and all this is going on at the [same time]; and after years of this, we begin to see: "copycat crimes" (i.e. - people actually wanting to become the replay) and plastic surgery to resemble others and it spirals, like a worm with its tail on fire (or is that its head?) until we, at last; ENTER THE MORPHIN TUBERNACLE WIRE AND THE YEAR 2000 WILL SEE, LITERALLY, GIGABITS OF VIRTUAL (THO I HATE THAT WORD!) SELVES THRONGING AND SURGING LIKE A CROWD AT A SOCCER RIOT, TOWARDS THE EXITS AND, THERE, BLOCKING THE WAY, IS THE SHEER MASS OF VIRTUAL GOO AND SOULS ARE STUCK AND HEARTS ARE STRAINED AND THINGS LOOK PRETTY BLEAK. THE FINAL BLOW, FOR ME, WAS THE SUDDEN DEVASTATION OF MICHAEL'S SEPARATION FROM LISA MARIE, WHICH WAS AN IRREPEATABLE "REAL-LIFE" CONFLUSION OF ALL THE POTENTIAL INTO ONE FRAIL VESSEL; UPON WHICH WE COULD PLACE OUR HOPES AND WOES GINGERLY OR IN FULL WAIL, AND WE WOULD HAVE KNOWN THE CHILD THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN PRODUCED AS: "THE MAVIS" AND WE COULD HAVE REVELLED IN [RE-PLAY] TIL DAWN etc. (ESPECIALLY; SINCE MICHAEL OWNS ALL THE BEATLES SONGS) AND THE RE-RUN HEADLOCK WOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLETE; BUT ALAS; (OR HOORAY!) THEY BROKE UP. AND SO DID I ... LOVE, BILL
Subj: my sister the journalist
Date: Wed, Sep 24, 1997
i am so proud of you,working for the NYT...don't
worry about by-lines...
do your work and do it well and JUSTICE will be
in this fiscal year but surely early in the first
quarter of next year...
my broker says: HOLD.......
i, myself, have always thought that you had a laser
eye for detail and
subtle underlyings, both ironic AND poignant,which
is a hard combo
to master(mistress?) but can yield dickensian or
if allowed to ripen on the vine of
experience...(what the heck is he
talking about????)of course,i mean that in a
a little humor never hurt anyone......i think that
is what DAD taught
hang in there,em....we can't stave off the
inevitable...we can try and make
the "passage" as smooth as possible; but the time
will come for us to
say good-bye to mom and dad....DO NOT FEAR.......we
will take it one
precious day at a time....but we will not PRETEND
that something else,
other than what is actually happening, is
happening....the truth may hurt,
but it's a lot less painful than hiding it and
refusing to deal with it and
one day: POW!..... so; i try to be strong and
muster whatever little
i have been able to gather from experience and gird
up to FACE the times
ahead...not just for me,but,more importantly: for
m+d......they NEED us to
be strong and "cheerful"...not fake,have-a-nice-day
cheerful,but the real
thing....full of cheer.....like a vetran nurse on
the terminal ward who
LIGHT and COMFORT to her patients....this is the
best thing that i can
of to do...of course it's sad and we don't want this
i am still entranced by the WEB.....if only my
looks like israel is in for another round of rock
vs. rubber bullet...i
that it doesn't escalate into a wider conflag, which
it definitely could
the prevailing simmer of frustration and
revengance....i hear the rumors of
warclouds rumble...i see the grim set of faces lined
up to tell the news to
anxious mothers....i watch young bodies wave
good-bye, off to the "front"...
(there is no "front" line in israel....it's more
like a circle
whole scene smacks of old newsreel cliches, but it's
in -your -face type real....
can you send me by e-mail your articles?
9. (hand-written, as usual all in capitals, but the content of this one seemed to beg otherwise)
Whew! Seasons zip by now at a right good pace ... why; it seems like only yesterday when I watched you tethering your donkeys by the teepee ... the wisps of grey smoke arising from the fire then are now mirrored in our hair ... the deer paths that cut thru the forest now alive on my brow ... the sound of the gurgling stream is now coming from the grandson's crib ... the flocks of birds overhead are actually calendar leaves on their way south ... there is a rhythm to all that rocks the cradle and the house and the land ... praise be to the big DJ; all power to the breath that breathes itself endlessly ... on the way; we get to have fun and some measure of pain and the attendant etceteras ... you have, yourself, administered loving hands to fevered souls, lonely souls, crazy souls and you know full well that no amount of pre-fab aluminum and candy gloss can hide the tragic errors of these humans that we find ourselves amongst and lo, even being such humans ourselves, having made our requisite share of errors, we cannot claim immunity, but rather, must continue to make amends as we can and keep on keepin' on until it's time to stop, which is who-knows-when, but one thing I do know, thru the haze of past campfires and snapshots collage, is that human kindness is still the highest virtue to be aspired to ... higher than knowledge or ecstacy or power ... higher than one's own state of mind ... higher than one's "personal spiritual space" ... higher than the glittery mounds of stuff that litter the landscape ... shopping palaces and insurance offices ... oh; the world cries out softly for kindnesses undone.
So, even tho' I've retired, and manage to live rather obscurely on next to nothing in the middle of hardly anywhere, I nonetheless try to adhere to the ideals set forth in the forefront of my mind by virtue of having seen lots of cool miracles right up until this very day and thereby deriving strength and sustenance from these very microscopic scenes, enabling me to carry on, in the face of what would otherwise be a bonecrushing funeral march thru enemy territory ... ("What the heck is he talking about?")
You know what I mean?
It's like, faith is a rock...
LOVE TO ALL, CITIZEN JONES
GREETINGS AND FRATERNAL AND SORORITAL SALUTATIONS FROM THE NEGEV ... IT IS REASSURING TO KNOW THAT YOU ALL ARE CARRYING ON AND ALL IS NOT LOST...
IN A WEEK OR TWO I SHALL BE GOING TO TEL AVIV AND I WILL BE SURE TO SEE SHILOAH ... I LOOK FORWARD TO IT ... I HAVEN'T SEEN OR HEARD FROM HER IN A WHILE BUT, JUST AS IT IS WITH ALL OF YOU THERE IN THE "TWIN CITY METROPLEX", OUR CONNECTION IS BOTH STRONG ENOUGH AND TRUE ENOUGH TO ENDURE ILLUSORY TEMPORAL INDIGNITIES ... I'M SURE IF YOU WERE TO GLIDE INTO MY SMALL PAD ONE EVENING, EITHER INDIVIDUALLY OR EN MASSES, WE WOULD SIMPLY PICK UP FROM WHERE WE WERE "RUDELY INTERRUPTED" LO, THOSE MANY YEARS AGO BECAUSE, IN FACT, AS WE ALL KNOW: THE HITS KEEP ON COMIN'!!! THERE IS NO SEPARATION OR FENCE ... FROM THE ITSYEST-BITSYEST LITTLE SUBATOMS TO THOSE LARGE QUADRANTS FULL OF SPACE; THE FAMOUS FIELD OF PHENOMS THAT NEEDS NO ZIP CODE; THE GLUEY VAST AND THE QUARK DUST, etc.... YOU GET THE PICTURE ... TOYS 'R US AND KEEP THE CHANGE ... ANYWAY, IT WOULD BE (WILL BE) GREAT TO SEE YOU ALL, CAMP-FIRE SIDE, ONE DAY ... MAYBE NOT ON THIS TREMBLY SPHERE, BUT WHO GIVES A FLYIN F**K? ANYWHERE IS FINE WITH POOR BILL JONES ... IT BEHOOVES US TO GROOVE, AND THE OMINOUS RUMBLE ON THE HORIZON WILL NOT DETER, EVEN THO' IT'S GONNA GET PRETTY "HEAVY" SOON ... OUR SHOPPING WILL BE MORE DIFFICULT ... THE YEAR ZERO-ZERO WILL BE A WEIRD ONE, FOR SURE ... HANG IN THERE!! DON'T DESPAIR! THE GOSPEL OF TRUTH IS STILL THE GOSPEL OF TRUTH... LOVE, BILL JONES
Wow! Nepal/India/Tibet? That's so great? You should be finally able to use all your training and previous experience in a go-for-it mode that holds out extreme promise and responsibility. Cool? Are you traveling alone? Are you taking a small tape recorder? I am so glad for you! Your journey will bear fruit? I would love a postcard from Tibet!
Can I presume to say that just one (or 2) small things about the Road? Take just a small, small bag? (Shoulder bag is best.) You don't need clothes? You can buy something there? On bus and train and everywhere, if you travel light you will be glad? Brush your teeth? and don't worry about money! Its fun to be broke, on the road, in the middle of some odd place with nothing but the Good Angel's candle to show the way? It puts you automatically on the bottom? Naturally prostrate? And your adventures become immediately off-the-beaten-track? And they become something to write "home" about? If you ever go "home" again? Because the road is that which moves, not you? Be broke in Bhutan. Be Kashless in Katmandhu? Be ruppeeless in Rishikesh?
Anyway, I am basically awed by thought of you in Tibet? If you stay there, I will understand? Many Blessings?
Over here in Israel, things are heating up to really, really blow? I am safe. But the specter of war looms? Please think of me on the journey and know that we breathe the very same air? Write again soon!
12. (undated, spring of '99)
? Sent hither from behind unpredictable patterns? They'll be back!
Blindfolded, it is always hard to resist don't you find?
PROPHECY FOR THE YEAR 2000
SIMPLY LOOKING AHEAD, AS CALMLY AS COULD BE, LIT UP AS THOUGH THERE STOOD NOTHING ELSE IN BETWEEN HERE CONCEALED?
THEY CROSSED THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER
COMPLETELY EMPTY- AND WENT OUT ONTO
WAITED IN SILENCE WATCHING THE THREAD OF GOLD RUNNING STRAIGHT THROUGH THE OPEN DOORS THAT HAD BEEN WOVEN ROUND THEM. THEN CARFULLY
ONE BY ONE, TOOK A STEP TOWARDS THE WORLD
PAUSED A MOMENT
GOING AS FAR AS THE GREAT BEYOND
EVERYBODY APPROACHED BUT ONLY A FEW ENTERED,
CAME CLOSE, FOLDED IN FRONT OF IT, SAW THE FACE LOOK BACK, CLASPED IT GENTLY AND RE-EMERGED TRANSPARENT?
DO NOT BE AFRAID, DO NOT MOVE, KEEP SILENT,
NOBODY WILL SEE US.
CAME BACK DOWN, THROUGH THE SKY, CURTAINED OFF, WITHOUT A WORD?
ON THE LAST DAY THEY ARRIVED
LIKE SO MANY MOTIONLESS EYES
TO ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF A VANISHED WORLD?
: THUS SPOKE BILL JONES
13. (hand-written, spring of '99)
DEAR FRED AND CO.,
PEACE! FROM THE LAND WHERE THERE IS NO PEACE ... BUT HEY! EVER ONWARD INTO THE BREACH...
I DON'T KNOW IF WE WILL MEET AGAIN ON THIS PLANET, BUT HEY! SEE YOU ON THE NEXT ONE, DON'Y BE LATE...
THE PARTY NEVER STOPS....
YOUR BRO, BILL JONES
14. (undated, hand-written, addressed to Israel Morrison)
HI ... REMEMBER ME ... MY NAME IS BILL JONES AND I AM REALLY TALL, BLOND, AND HAVE HUGE MUSCLES AND I AM SO RICH THAT WHEN MY CAR RUNS OUT OF GAS, I JUST LEAVE IT BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND GO BUY A NEW ONE. I LIVE IN A HUGE HOUSE WITH MANY SLAVES AND I HAVE A TV SET WITH 700 CHANNELS! I AM SURE YOU WOULD LIKE TO VISIT ME HERE AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOU ARE WELCOME...
WE COULD HAVE LOTS OF FUN ... WE COULD TAKE HEROIN OR CRACK COCAINE. WE COULD BEAT UP OLD PEOPLE AND BREAK WINDOWS ... WE COULD EAT UNTIL WE THROW UP AND THEN EAT AGAIN! WE COULD SHOOT THINGS WITH MY GUNS AND TORTURE LITTLE ANIMALS.
DOES THAT SOUND LIKE FUN TO YOU? I HOPE SO ... SEE YOU SOON...
LOVE, MR. JONES
P.S. I HAVE PLENTY OF DRUGS AND GUNS, SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO BRING YOUR OWN...
22 Jul 2000
Subject: gone fission...
diputs~san }}}}}}} !
moist faces have i upon receiving your netdress...and lo, behold
i address you now..lengthwise in linear terms across the west,
and omnidirect in a feynmanny way, if you glean what i seen,
and i know you all do...
i shrug the wait of years off in a flash,your face is lined as mine
is too and show what? many moons of many whens, that's what...
living small in santa fe, the likes of which i can, and being the
nightshift guy at a home for "troubled" native teens...they are
here rather than jail, and i am here to see that they sleep real
peacefullike 'til dawn...garrick is nearby, polishing gems from the
past 'til they gleam...i wish to heck that i could write at least
ONE cohered sentence, but i can't...inextricably, oy veer subliminal
and run right off the trail, albeit in usual soft grass, but off the
trail,nonetheless, allthemore and evenso, oops, dare i go....again...
but anyway, here's to ya and i wish faith~courage~luck to ya &
yours in these coming days...(what's that in the road? a head.)
i remember your gracious scrabbly hospitable abode and my time
spent well within, that rare calm evening ago...after some other
whiles therabouts, i just got back on the eastbound greyhound to troll for
port somehow and now i'm found to have wound on down
to right around here where i used to be all the time...it's like
a laserbeamed light in a cesium chamber, all echoes of what will be plus be;
anon infinitem and so whygofite'em says i and i, now..
practice akido with all the might we can muster and pass it on...
that's basically it from this transmission...if you would be so very
kind as to find a few replies this way, why i would surely be glad.
because people are not spilled backwards enuf and they tend to
develope mindless momentums and you don't, diputs~ji, and you
never have, which is surely pretty coolish,
The Drain River Poetry Collective
This was a diversion dreamed up by Kaushal and Fred in the fall of 1975. Perhaps one or the other had heard of the Dada game "Exquisite Corpse" in which poets compose alternate lines, and we had both surely played the game in which 3 people draw, on a sheet of paper folded into thirds, respectively, the head, upper body, and lower body of a whimsical figure, with no peeking. The D.R.P.C. was the name of the collective authors of the pieces, always including Kaushal and Fred, often including Sandy Shore, Crystal Bullitt, Melita Bullitt, John Rivera, Carla Newbre, Bill Hasselback, or Alan Fried, and once including an entire Rainbow Farm council meeting of about 35 people.
What we called this game also served as a description of how it's played: Every Other Word. Someone would operate the typewriter, and, in a regular rotation, each person in turn would supply a word. If anyone lost the thread, the typist would read out from the beginning of the previous sentence. The end of the piece was agreed by acclamation, at which point the typist performed a dramatic reading of the finished work.
The composition of the authorial team was rarely recorded.
This first piece was, I believe, typed by Kaushal. I have endeavored to provide a translation.
Yje sun maxhine is xomming up Were foing to have a party
Chinese lanterns trampling ynferfoot/
Chatging thru the overbrusy
red savers leld alofy.
I leaned into the
ibto the essence
The sun machine is coming up
We're going to have a party
Chinese lanterns trampling underfoot
Charging through the overbrush
red salvers held aloft.
I leaned into the god's eye
into the essence.
rubber rafter watchdog
jam the dreaded cypress with bilaterally-jaundiced borderguards,
if whereupon we hemorrhage eternity, then we staunchly quest nostrils,
sucking wastrels deafeningly. hark! the ample personification swings on savage rings
and bellows to its wrought-iron shaving-brush. meanwhile, syrupy crevasses shed all over their sealskin spies.
spires descend sins male. to you
phosphorescent gliders slalom down-hill true.
effervescent slugs pass, racing as effortlessly as clouds.
sometimes i eat dirt
without even plummeting,
the future of the shift
"This is kind of funny," said Carvel.
"Sounds good," said Bill.
"It started with Bill's vocabulary," said Kaushall,
"I came to search my soul but only got frisked. Vacancy within - our time forever.
Hope passes among us forever. Why not frequently? Forever orphans sympathize with our plight.
Forever without love or us, plus. The sidewalk shimmers with thoughts of freedom.
Shock softly, my friend, I ain't playin no more. Like fragile, don't break me, Matilda, oh my heart aches so.
Pass the world, so lonely. Luckily I still have the capacity to scream.
The knowledge to share is the knowledge to know. streaming within my heartflow,
link tingling like glass with brittle veins and no drugs, that sing forever.
Are we going to die tomorrow? We are not going to die. Forever."
Little miracles seem enormous when compared to Nan's doily creations. Now, she never explored her body needlessly except when Herman wasn't out of town. Possibilities multiplied like rabid rabbits until Nan and Herman finally reached Orange County. It turned out horribly at first, so horribly, in fact, that Herman turned down an invitation to breakfast with The Captain and Tennile. Nan left home without shutting off her oven full of old fish-heads that were to have been an inspiration for taking out the garage, which was shaped just like a 1957 Cadillac. Herman exclaimed, "How could this happen here, Nan, all of our friends are doing time in the joint?" Nan spat under her breath, and slugged the very next visitor in the forehead, "I'm bustin out of here!"
loosened your slipper
music twanged sunlessly
trees stood by in the outing,
not knowing who was within
emerald labyrinth enclosed
birds - not bats -
not seeping red sickles
in her ice eyes
through all of this
all his eyelids and glacial gestures
she kept yellowstone views
rangers closest to her heart
and they never mauled her or
made her talk: they couldn't.
I thought you was a motherfucker, but no, it's me ... I was running from the sheriff in rain, butterflies swarming all over the place, and the damn fly-paper tagging at the heels ... Joanie the runaway was just standing there, under my fairy pasture gate. (Man, all this hip jive lingo stuff has got to fall away) I stopped running and got rid of the fly paper. We did be and don't be for the longest ding-dong time, til we heard Mother calling, and hoof-beats.
Jesus had spats on his forehead and, like ... wow ... the buses are still just wishing by the peach trees this evening, and she dreamed of me - I'd swear it - she dreamed of me ... all of her Mediterranean afternoons and evenings, living together in the beginning for the longest time, by the seas and the sons and the loving and the killing and the humming of the old women sighing, "I've more misery than you."
It's a good drug for stuff like this, but when people start talking like that, I don't understand. I feel like a thorn in a bed of roses ... a deep fucker - fucking deeper.
The beaver. The crawdad. And when it comes, they will survive.
17. Nine to Christina
two reports on n.p.r. in the past few days have been the impetus to
one was a discussion on diaries- why people write them, why they are
read after the author's death, and what they offer to those who knew and
the second was a report on the memorial service held for danny pearlman,
the jounalist killed in pakistan. fine tales and memories shared by his
friends- stories that told a full, and rich picture of the man. funny
how words can make a picture....
besides a visionary "fool" who leapt in and out of people's lives with a
passion, and intensity that only the courageous, or hopeless, are able
to show, our boy was a gentle and kind soul. scared and fragile, and of
a delicacy and elegance mostly reserved for the miracles of nature- like
a pearl, or a conch shell washed up on a beach at daybreak, or a new
born infant. his generosity and piercing compassion broke his heart and
gave the push to open to others'. his keen vision and open eye saw
wonders that made even a trip to the grocery store an adventure.
we met in april of 96 and shared letters, music, books...
chris; (a drawn heart)
no..no..no.....wait a minute! this was NOT how this scenario was
supposed to go.....
the plan IS that you are supposed to fly over here around the end of
june. (27th is my birthday) i meet you at the airport. we come down here
to mitspe. we dance...we talk...we walk...we look deep...we eat
falafel...we listen to music...we massage...we have serious fun and THEN
after all this; then we see what's what....ok? yes?
maybe a phone call is in order?
your host, chuck
chris, (a drawing of a thunder bolt coming from a cloud)
i have one small request:
there's a magazine called "wired" which is a magazine about the "new"
computor culture, etc.....can you bring me the june issue and, if at all
possible, the july issue?
i find it to be the most interesting magazine....
it still feels like a dream; but a GOOD dream....i will call on the 5th
(heart drawing) chuck
time is on our sides
well; this is going to be interesting...i HOPE that you won't be
disappointed. i am NOT fat or bald. i can still put either leg behind my
head (while standing) and i can still touch my forehead to my shins
(while standing/sitting) and i can still remember vague details of years
gone by and i still manage to have not yuppiefied or gone insane.
confused; yes, but not insane....whew!
rather than say: "no games. no bullshit", i would propose to try and
"absorb and transform" the games and b.s., because everybody has 'em and
everybody does it pretty regularly and the idea of getting THROUGH IT
rather than avoiding or surpressing or sublimating the games and b.s.,
is what appeals to me, mainly because i've never had the experience of
such with anyone.
i never met anyone that i go THROUGH IT with. i use words as building
blocks and conjuring tools and i love abstract, obsure, triple-level
metaphors and images. but what i most love is silence in a glance. the
unspoken gesture. the symbol in a tea cup. the action that shouts and
whispers...in other words; no words.
symbolic ritualistic spontaneous and speaking a deeper jargon. a spirit
slang. a moral code. what can i say?
i play games (fantasy; unthreatening; creative. little kids) i b.s. on
an hourly basis. i need to trust. and relax. i can't promise not to play
games but i can assure you that whatever b.s. arises, i will try to get
THROUGH IT to a place of peace.
but it takes time, or at least i THINK it does (?) cause i really don't
know; but theorhetically, it sounds good...peace...trust...fun...
does this make sense?
i will call you on saturday, in the early evening (around 4-5-6p.m. your
(drawing of a heart, and a funny little alien looking creature)
the room still holds your scent....
the kitchen sink and everything....
therefore; it's not too difficult to recognize your presence here...
the thing to do now; the thing that often eludes us when grasped at; is
to actually and really have:
A NICE DAY...
(a drawing of a heart with sunbeams at one end) until, bill
your letters are WONDERFUL and your clear heart shines thru them. i miss
there are still many of your golden hairs shimmering in my carpet. at
around an hour before sunset, when the light is that just-so-shade, i
can see your hairs softly sparkle across the floor and i remember that
week, way back in july, when you were here and it's the scent of a
dream...a real good dream...
what are we gonna do? north carolina is pretty far away...about the
only thing i can think of is to get connected to the internet and get a
little digital video camera and a microphone and if you have one, too,
then we could talk and see each other...all the technology is already in
place and soon; like it or not, (i do!) there will be bodyglove
fiber-suits so that you can "feel" as well. shake hands and ...
i know, i know, it's weird...all this plastic and humming electrons and
wires and blue-screen glow... but, so what??? war is weird... hatred and
violence are weird... money is weird...etc...
computors and lasernets and hologram kisses are worse than war? worse
than a drunken bottle grinding brawl at the local pit stop? worse than a
cheap, loveless rutting in some alley?
i don't think so....
so, today; (in about 3 hours) my new "machine" arrives...on sunday the
phone company comes and plugs me in. but i won't have a regular
phone...just the net...we'll see what happens; but i'm certain that
"videophone" thru' the internet is where things are generally
the "machine" that is coming is a custom-built
graphics/music-oriented netsurf cruiser... i will be able to edit and
manipulate images (video images!...moving images!) that i can gather
from regular tv and the internet...i can make collages that move!
i can make music! i have a soundgenerating program to make future
sounds in my little desert pad....whew! it's all too much, but on we
must go! forward! fuck the system which fosters dread and psycho ruin on
it's citizens...."they" will never catch me...i'll slip into the crater
before i let them take me and deprogram me and shove me in a meat
blender and soon i would just be one more sausage on a hook...no
but it's a bit lonely at times...
i'll write soon...i don't FORGET you...what is a good metaphor for
koshal (drawing of a heart)
p.s. thanks for your communications, and thanks for WIRED magazine, and
thanks for your AMAZING and PERFECT collage of mitspe/efland, and thanks
for not being prudish (god! i would really like to be with you right
now...) and thanks for being open to the new technology and not being
anachronistic, and thanks for all the care and energy you put into your
kids, and thanks for your excellent calligraphy and your generous prose,
(you are a GOOD writer!) and thanks for helping me to enter into this
incredible future which is MUCH more expensive than i thought, and
thanks for our dreamlike week together and thanks for making that week
like a dream and NOT a drag or a nightmare, and thanks for our bodies
touching and re-awakening feelings i thought had been lost and let's do
it some more, ok?
these are big questions, but i just know that it will be revealed...i
will write again soon.............
at this point began a daily, or more, e-mail correspondence-
supplemented with phone calls and too short visits in secret, and not so
being a zen sort of geek who didn't (doesn't) quite understand the truth
of impermanance, they were all deleted. i am sorry for us all.
there are more from 98 and 99- and lots of memories that will never be
peace to you and sara~
here's one ( of more)
9 may, 1998
subject: belly up on the beach: a whale's tale
i can dig it.....i think that we should meet in knoxville some
but not for a while, becuase the drama is thick here in memphis and the
roles were solidified long ago....i am a fluid in the sand...i am the
wind between the rocks....my role is: silent driver...otherwise i get in
trouble....i must be quiet....i must wear a seatbelt....i must not put
parsley in everything....i must resist the temptation to lecture my
parents and sister on just about any conceivable topic and rather; i
must nod and smile and agree and keep COOL.....
yesterday; a five year old was arrested in memphis for coming to school
with a gun to kill his teacher and some kids....
mojo ram 8
18. Six to Ross
My congratulations for all the keen work you are doing in spite of an
Here's all 4K of zany stuff. I had a feeling he would get really pissed some
of this "laundry" stuff is getting aired, but then again who knows?
There's some holiday going on here. During work I looked into a school yard
from my eyrie and could see down there below a bunch of school girls with
day-glo-pink pieces of paper stuck on top of their heads while music played
in the background!
What a planet!
(original all in caps:)
The winter is come to the negev. the wind has a bite and the few desert flowers have long
since hidden themselves. I patch a few places where the cold gets in and snuggle and huddle
and sit and just plain BE right here in the middle of all of it.
I am working here with the art school and with the Mitspeh community doing various
things like video, english tutoring, playing drums for dance classes and generally JUST
PLAIN BEing right here in the center of the trembling and shifting world.
You know, I never, ever hardly leave Mitspe and occasionally, I go to Beersheba for
some fresh ground costa rican coffee or to sign some paper or very occaisionally go to
Tel Aviv for a cinematheque evening of merry avant-gardism with all the guys who wear
black and have pale skin but usually, I'm just plain me right here on the rim of the craters
listening to the negev coyotes howl and the silent hum of the "starry dynamo".
(Blake or Ginsburg or?)
love and encouragement,
CHUCK the CITIZEN
(these next two are undated, but written during Kaushal's visits-before-last to the US)
"GOLDEN SHEEP! WOVEN IN THE
MIDDLE NIGHT!!! THE hills were dawn
CRAWLING WITH THEM. WE LAY ON
a pillow of meadow grass gazing at the sheep fleece
clouds drift by.
Our wine skins glistened. The day had
promised and delivered. Life was studded
with gems. The soft breeze and the sheep.
I whispersang and the trees at the far end
danced and our skins listened..."
This is what the "common
human" considers to be paradise.
Our studies have determined
that statistically; a SCENE SUCH AS
the one depicted above; is highly
improbable for more than a few minutes
in 98% of THIS DROOped and trembling
I BESEECH THE power that be's...
Oh yes... oh yes... oh wondrous yes...
( appologies to and solidarity with Joyce)
chewing bitter chump steaks in AMERICUH.
This land of the twee and home of
the savings coupon. parking lots filled with
raw deals, oozing bargains and pulsating
schemers, drooling dreamers etc. etc.
The SHUK-A-DELIC SHUCK.
So where does a nice boy settle
down? Where is the patch, howevER
thorny? What can the matter be?
wait... be cool... be mellow.
just-if-eye the situation, JOE.
keep your hair shirt on, RALPH.
pass me a musket, GREGOR.
methinks the psychologidulling effect
of new technology is colliding with
the raging blood beast and in AMURICUH,
at least, whole segments of the population
are in some kind of not-so-cute consternation.
maybe ill see you soon... LOVE,
word balloon in comix pasted at top of letter:
WAITAMINNIT... YOU MEAN... IT'S ALREADY
TOMMOROW? -AN' I MISSED TODAY?
DEAR ROSS and RONI and all;
O, how THE NUMBERS ROLL IN AMERICA! ALL DAY LONG
AND IN YOUR FACE. ASIMULATED CURVES AND DEPTH.
BUT SHALLOW; LIKE A FACTORY PUDDLE AND FULL
OF MUTANT FROGS AND CHEM SCUM. IT STEAMS AT NIGHT
UNDER MERCURY VAPORS AS BEAMS FROM POLICE CHOPPERS SWEEP
THE EMPTY LOT...
ONE NIGHT HE WAS CAUGHT CATCHING THREE FROGS BY FLASHLIGHT.
HE FROZE AND RELEASED THEM. THEY HOPPED AWAY WHILE HE WAS
SHAFTED. THE IDENTAPLEX CODE WAS WRONG AND THE BIG HOOK WAS
COMING. UH-OH! TROUBLE FOR BILL FOR SURE. HE SHOULD HAVE KEPT
OUT OF THE WAY.
NOW THE ONLY THING LEFT TO DO WAS PACK IT IN OR ACCELLERATE.
AMERICA WAS CHOKING AWAY. THEY WERE SHOWERED IN MAELSTROMS
OF DIFFERED DEGREES. TONIGHT WAS SERIOUS... THE FENCE WASN'T FAR.
THE CHOPPER COPS WERE FURTHER SOUTH AND HE COULDN'T PAUSE FOR
REGRET. YA' CAN'T LOOK A BLESSED MINUTE IN THE MOUTH. SO HE
STAYED IN THE TUNNELS UNTIL THE WIND PICKED UP. CHOPPERS
COULDN'T HOVER IN A HIGH WIND AND THE DUST WILL COVER HIS
TRACKS. HE HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT EXCEPT FOR ONE THING...
HE THOUGHT HE WAS ALONE...
- END OF FIRST PARAGRAPH -
SO, HOW ARE YOU? I CAN BARELY WRITE NOW BECAUSE I'M WORKING IN
A KITCHEN ALL DAY AND MY POOR BRAIN IS BEING BOMBED IN
AMURRICA. BUT BASICALLY EVERYTHING IS PRETTY MUCH IN THE USUAL,
YA' KNOW, SORT OF O.K. IF YOU DON'T PUSH TOO HARD AT THE EDGES
AND IF YOU SUSPEND THE GIANT LOOMING SHADOWS OF BAD KARMA-
SOUL SNATCHERS AND KEEP YOUR EYES GLUED TO THE GROUND AS YOU
PASS AND DON'T MESS WITH ANYBODY OR ANYTHING EVER AND FEAR THE
REAPER THEY SAY AND FLAY THE HELPLESS ETC. AND YOU KNOW THE
SCORE. BUT FUCK IT. THE HOPE REMAINS...
THE PEARLY BRISTLES OF STAR BRUSH MY CHEEK.
THE SONGS OF THE WHISPERS OF LOVE.
THE TONES OF THE LAND IN THE OLIVE TREE GROVE
AND THE COILS OF MIST 'ROUND THE PEAK,
TRUELY TRUELY... AMIN.....
I WILL NOT SURRENDER TO THEM. HAH! TAKE THAT
CRUEL WORLD! (AHHEMM. EXCUSE ME, SIR. YES?
EXCUSE ME; COULD YOU HOLD IT DOWN
A LITTLE. PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.) OH.. SORRY...
ooops... CITIZEN BILL JONES SIGNING OFF....
I ALWAYS APPRECIATE YOUR LETTERS IMMENSLY AND NOW
THAT YOU'RE PLUGGED INTO THE FONT FACTORY, I ALSO CAN
APPRECIATE YOUR LETTERS THEMSELVES. IT'S TOO LATE TO
CHANGE THE CARRIAGE ON THE OLD REMINGTON, AND MY
DIGITS CRAMP ON THE PEN, SO I CAN ENVISION THE
DAY WHEN I GET WIRED, TOO; BUT FOR NOW, THE
BEST I CAN DO IS THIS...
JUPITER PLUMES OF SUPERCHARGED METHANE. TOWERS
OF HOT FLAME AND ELECTRA GO BOOM, SENDING OUT UN-
IMAGINABLE WAVES. THE TAROT READERS TREMBLE
AND LARGE MEN WITH MACHETES HACK THEIR WAY
THRU DENSE HUMAN UNDERGROWTH. MY EYES'RE BEHOLDEN TO
AWESOME-COOL MOMENTS IN THE PAST, BUT NOWADAYS...
WELL.... IT'S SEEMING MORE WEIRD EVERYDAY. (EXCEPT,
OF COURSE, FOR THE UNCHANGEABLE EVERNESS) A TWO-
TIER REALITY LANE ON THE AUTOSTRAD, FILLED WITH
INFOGRAM PAVLOVIANS BUZZING GORGONJIVE IN
DRIBBLESSPEAK STRAIGHT TO THE PSYCHE OF IT'S WILL-LESS
MASS. PEOPLE-WHO-SLEEP... OH; HER LOOSE, SQUIRREL-
POUCH JOWLS ARE STUFFED WITH SIMULAX AND HIS STRIPED
TONGUE LOLLS TO ONE SIDE AS HE SNORES. THE
SAD, SOUR FLOWERPRINT WALLBOARD GROANS AS WELL.
HE TURNS IN HIS DREAM AND THE FRENCH DRAPES RUFFLED
BY DEGREES. THE LATER DAY SUN WAS MOLTING
AS SHE SAT ON A STONE-BENCH IN
A LEAVE-STREWN CEMETAIRE IN GRAY PAREE. THE
IRON GATES SHUT SILENTLY AFTER ALL...
MR. JACK POTT HITCHED UP HIS K-MART SLACKS
AND SAUNTERSTUMBLED INTO TOWN. THE CLOSING
BELL WAS READY TO CHIME BUT HE MADE IT JUST IN TIME.
MARGE AND JENNIFER WERE ALREADY THERE AND THEY
HAD A JOVIAL HALF-HOUR OVER LIMONADAS BEFORE
THE PIMPLY BEEF ROUSTED THE AND THE NEXT THING
THEY KNEW, THE DRIVE-BY BOYS WERE SPRAYING
THE LOT WITH LEAD. (ACTUALLY, IT WAS HOLLOW-POINT
45'S) JACK DIVED FOR COVER UNDER JENNIFER, BUT
MARGE AND SOMEONE FROM ACCOUNTING WERE AHEAD OF
HIM. HE CONSOLED HIMSELF BY CATCHING RICOCHETS.
AFTER A DECENT INTERLUDE HE LAPSED INTO SHOCK.
JENNIFER PULLED A GLOCK FROM HER PURSE AND RETURNED
METAL, PROSE FOR PROSE, UNTIL GLENWOOD MALL
WAS A VAST, LIVING, INTERACTIVE SHOOT-OUT.
IT BECAME A FAD... THE COPS WERE JUST PART OF THE
PLOT. GOOD COLORS, MAN...
I HAUL MYSELF OUT OF MY CAVE AND GLANCE UP
AT THE NIGHT SKY. YEP, SURE ENOUGH, JUPITER GO
THANK YOU FOR THE MOST RECENT MISSIVE
WHICH HAS JUST NOW REACHED ME BACK HERE IN
MITSPE, AFTER HAVING MISSED ME IN AMERICUH BY
BY A HAIR'S BREADTH... IT'S REASSURING TO KNOW THAT
SOMEBODY IS ON THE CASE...
AMERICAH-CAH WAS VERY WIERD... I HAD A CAR
AND A VISACARD AND A GASCARD AND A SUPERMARKETCARD
AND A GUY CAME TO CLEAN UP THE YARD AND A HOUSE-
MAID WHO WORKED VERY HARD AND I SAW A PEOPLE
COVERED IN BLUBBERING LARD; FROM FEAR
AND TOIL THEIR HEARTS ARE SCARRED
AND WHAT THEY SORELY LACK IS A CREDIBLE BARD, AND
I'M NOT TALKIN' WAYNE NEWTON/ GARTH BROOKS, PARD'.
NOW I AM SAFELY BACK IN THIS REHOV
SUM-SUM HIDEY-HOLE, WHICH HAS ALMOST NO
CONNECTION WITH "THE REAL WORLD" WHAT-SO-
EVER AT ALL... AND I LIKE IT... THE PLANET
SURELY IS TREMBLING AND THIS TIME IT'S
NOT PREMATURE RAMBLINGS OR THE
MUTTERANCE OF COUNTLESS HOLYDUDES AND
FLAMING A**HOLES, TOO, DOWN THRU THE
YEARS WHO'VE SEEN IT COMING AND LO;
HERE IT IS! THE WHEEZING, HEAVING,
HACKING SPIRATIONS OF A TERMINAL KIND.
250,000 IRANIAN TROOPS ON THE AFGHAN PLAINS.
(ETC.) SO; MORE THAN EVER NOW, COURAGE
IS NEEDED... DEEP, RATIONAL, PASSIONATE
AND VITAL... BECAUSE GENETICALLY-ALTERED TOMATOES
ARE RIGHT OVER THERE AND NEW MUTANT STREAMS
OF VIROTERROR HAUNT THE PORTS OF AFRICA
AND SEED IS BEING CAST ON THE ASTROTURF
TO FALLOW AND IT'S ALL A BIT OF BROUHAHA, ISN'T
IT? FAITH AND COURAGE TO ALL, HA-HA-HA LOVE,
I THINK I'M COMING DOWN WITH SOMETHING... I THINK IT'S CALLED:
INSANITY... I HOPE IT'S NOT FATAL, BUT THEN LIFE IS FATAL, NO?
OUR ONLY HOPE IS COMPLETE AND UTTER REDEMPTION, THO' THERE ARE
THOSE WHO WOULD ARGUE THAT TRUE REDEMPTION COMES ONLY THRU
ONE'S OWN EFFORTS AND ACTIONS.
WE WILL SEE... IN THE MEANTIME AND KINDTIME; I'M UNABLE TO EVEN
FATHOM WHY I WAS SO HORRENDOUS ON YOUR WASTED TRIP TO MITSPE. TO ATTEMPT
TO ANALYZE IT WOULD ALSO BE A WASTE.
CHALK IT UP TO A BAD ACID TRIP AND MOVE ON. SOME HOW, IF YOU WOULD FORGIVE
ME, THEN AT LEAST YOU WILL BE REDEEMED.
AS FOR THIS LAME SHELL THEY CALL "MYSELF", IT WILL BE A "WARM DAY
IN JANUARY" BEFORE I GET IT TOGETHER.
...TIME IS ON OUR SIDES...
I FEEL LIKE NIXON'S TOOTHBRUSH.
I FEEL LIKE A PLASTIC BAG CAUGHT ON A THORNBUSH.
I FEEL LIKE
A LITERATURE TEACHER AT A SMALL
COMMUNITY COLLEGE IN THE TIRED
HILLS OF NEW ENGLAND WHO IS
STANDING IN THE WEAK FLOURESCENCE
OF THE POST OFFICE WITH HIS MANUSCRIPT,
HIS ATTEMPT AT BEING PUBLISHED, IN
HIS LIVER-SPOTTED HAND, STARING AT
THE REJECTION SLIPS AND HE SIGHS,
WHICH IS ALL THE EMOTION HE HAS
LEFT TO MUSTER AND SHUFFLES BACK
TO HIS PAD DROPPING THE MANUSCRIPT IN THE
19. Application for conscientious objector status - November 19th, 1970
I am, by reason of my religious training and belief, conscientiously opposed to participation in war of any form and i am further conscientiously opposed to participation in noncombatant training and service in the Armed Forces. I, therefore, claim exemption from both combatant and noncombatant training and service in the Armed Forces, but am prepared to perform civilian alternative service if called. - Charles Yellin
1. Describe the nature of your belief which is the basis of your claim and state why you consider it to be based on religious training and belief.
It is always hard to transfer your soul to paper. But if you feel strong enough about something, it does become easier.
This first question asks for the nature of my belief. To answer it in the purest and simplest way, I would turn the words a bit and say: The nature of my belief is my belief in nature. The trust I put in GODS plan. his divine plan, which is nature itself. With the gentle wind and the rain turning the leaves to ground and back into trees again. This has been going on for years; billions of years. and not only confined to this planet, but GODS plan extends over the whole entire universe.
I know that God knows what he is doing. He is beautu, truth, wisdom, and justice. He is everything and he cannot be classified. Whether or not the Press-Scimitar is published tomorrow, the MISSISSIPPI will continue to flow. GODS things are constant because they change and adjust like a river. Man is finite until he links up to GOD. His things are not pure until they stem from the love of GOD.....
If you look out your window right now, tell me how many man-made things you see that were built with the love of GOD in the builders heart and not the love of money. Be honest with yourselves......Do you now see what I mean?
I see out my Oregon window, a green valley covered with fir trees. I see a young deer out looking for food. He sees me but is unafraid; he knows I wont hurt him. I see a little bubbling creek with some fine trout swimming in it. It is raining gently. I am working in the field, breaking up the ground for next spring. My wife is near; some friends have stopped by with their children. They are to stay for supper. Some soft harmonica music is playing by the house. There is peace. I am happy......Suddenly a great noise roars through the valley. I know the sound and begin running towards the house shouting. My guests know the danger too. We search for shelter but it is too late. A plane; two planes appear spitting fire and screaming. bombs fall, and the whole valley shatters....NAPALM!
I return to the house to find it totally destroyed. my field is ruined, great sulpherous craters in it. The hillside is burnt half the way to the top, and the deer is running around in confusion and shock. Probably his home was destroyed also. My wife lies on the ground, silent. I feel someone watching me and I turn...It is the little son of Paul, my visitor, and his stomach is hanging open, bleeding. But he doesn't say a word. He just looks at me. Asking - why?
This is why I hate war. Because I cannot answer why; and I cannot see the good in it. Because it destroys things and that is all it does, it destroys. It destroys all of GODS things and just leaves them lying there dead and maimed. This cannot be good...I don't believe there is anything so important that you must kill for it; and not try to work it out the way JESUS would have wanted it.
If this is one nation under GOD, then let us be under GOD, and not some groaning creaking hypocrite. let us trust in GOD to guide us through life; and not panic and worry. If someone does wrong, GOD will judge and take care of him. It is not up to man to judge..."Let he among you who has not sinned cast the first stone."
How many of our generals can say that they have not sinned...Let them purify their own hearts first. War is a judge, but a blind and cruel, merciless judge. It judges blindly with pain and death. THIS IS NOT JUSTICE.
Mans role on earth is to flow like the river and bend like the tree in the wind. Man must not destroy. That is the supreme will of GOD. Man is only a vessel to be filled with the Holy Spirit, not with C-rations and exploding shrapnel. I cannot take orders from anyone but GOD...
I CANNOT SUPPORT WAR
I WILL NOT FIGHT
2. Explain how, when and from whom or from what source you received the religious training and acquired the religious belief which is the basis of your claim.
As for most Americans, war did not exist for me when I was young. I read about it or watched it on T.V. but it was just another exciting all-american thing like the pennant race or moms apple pie.
I would wake up, eat breakfast, go to school and study about gettysburg and dunkirk, and I would come back home, fix myself a piece of hot buttered cinnamon toast and sit down and write an essay on why General Pershing should have rescued the Lost Battalion. What I didn't understand was that these were real events in which people actually died.
I think my first inkling of real world reality coming home was the death of President Kennedy. I could not accept that it was happening. I mean, sure, this happens in history books, of course. But not in real life. Or does it?
When I finally did accept his death as real, I realized that these other things i was seeing in the paper or watching on television were real too...It was a very rude awakening. Suddenly the world was not just whos in first place but also, why are we in the Domenican Republic? Why are we in Viet Nam? Why is Martin Luther King liying covered with blood? And on and on and on. I could not answer these questions, and no-one in a position of authority and knowledge like my teachers could either. In fact, my teachers would say, "It's all right, Chuck, hes only dying. The president knows what he is doing. You should not question him. You should sit down and be quiet and maybe someday you will grow up and be a big strong senator." *
Well, I could not accept these pat-on-the-head answers, so subsequently I furthered my education right out of school. my parents were not to pleased over my dismissal from school, but they supported my beliefs and they have always given me a free choice in all matters. I love them very much.
I began getting older and was travelling a lot and I met many interesting people...But I will never forget the night I was stranded in the San Francisco airport waiting to go to Portland. I had been waiting for hours and I was very hungry so I decided to ask people for a little spare change so I could eat. The first people I approached were a group of soldiers who were sitting around talking. As I drew close to them I over heard one young kid say - "Yeah, well I once stabbed a six year old girl in the stomach with my bayonet and cut off her ear for good luck." I will never forget it. I was totally shocked. I excused myself for interrupting, and asked this this guy how he could talk about such a thing so casually. He turned to me and said - "Look man, when you're in a war its either you or them. You act now think later. And I've killed plenty of people and it is easier after you've done the first few." His buddies all looked at me and nodded. They weren't angry and yet they were not proud either. They seemed resigned to the fact. I asked the guy how old he was and he said nineteen. I asked him how many people he had killed and he said 50-60 but that he wasn't really sure...
I got up and left and sat by myself...And that night I knew for sure that I would try and help other human beings, and that I would never consciously kill another human being or animal. Nor could I support the killing of another human or animal.
That is why I am a vegetarian. I have been a vegetarian for almost two years. It repulses me to eat flesh. I can hardly be in the same house where meat is cooked. I have also found that a certain type of people eat meat and a certain type are vegetarian. This does not mean that everyone who is vegetarian is a saint and vice-versa; but generally, those who are vegetarians are gentler, healthier, happier people than those who consume rotting flesh. Gandhi (who through his teachings has greatly influenced me) was a strict vegetarian and so were most of his followers. That is why his non-violent revolution could succeed.
It is very hard for a meat-eater to be non-violent. Meat makes you violent. The very eating of meat is a VIOLENT act. And as sure as I am here today, my children will never eat meat.
So many things have influenced me in my beliefs, but I truly feel that I have always been a pacifist. And every act of violence serves to strengthen my belief. Every thought or word of hard hate directed at another person only softens my heart toward the hater and makes me want to give the great gift to everyone. That gift is LOVE...and every time I think of the army, my heart cries out; not only for myself but for the freedom of all...
I CANNOT SUPPORT WAR
I WILL NOT FIGHT
3. To what extent does your religious training and belief restrict you from ministering to the sick and injured, either civilian or military, or from serving in the Armed Forces as a noncombatant without weapons?
This question I have seriously deliberated on for a long while. At first it was only a vague feeling that guided my answer; but now I am sure. My conscience could never allow me to assist the war machine in any manner. When involved in a thing as horrible as war, you are GUILTY no matter whether you actually pull the trigger, copy the orders to pull the trigger, or even bandage the trigger finger so it can fire again. It is all the same. Part of the same act, furthering the same goal: DEATH......
I could never put myself in a position of supporting the war effort in any manner. It would be hypocritical and I can not live with being hypocritical. most of the folks around here seem to be able to, but I could not...I could not work as a noncombatant because I feel I would be releasing someone else for a job at the front....I could not do this. I am also sure I could not minister the sick or injured under the guise of the army. On my own free will and under my own volition there is almost nothing which gives me greater pleasure than to help others who are in pain. But, no, I could never do it in uniform......
I CANNOT SUPPORT WAR
I WILL NOT FIGHT
4. Have you ever given expression publicly or privately, written or oral, to the views herein expressed as the basis for your claim? Give examples.
Ever since the war became an issue among the american people I have spoken out loudly and clearly against it. Before, I just expressed my views privately, but when people started talking, I was one of the first and most vocal.
I can remember having and argument with my eighth grade history teacher who claimed that we must bomb north viet nam with an atom bomb.because those "dirty commie rats" are killing our boys. I told her this would be a grave mistake and that none of our boys would get killed if none of them were over there in the first place. She said that if our boys were not over there the "lousy red devils" would attack us. I told her that this was yet to be proven and asked her to justify all the innocent people who would be killed by the bomb. She said that was the price of war, and that they should not be there anyway.
This is the type of total savage ignorance that I see all around me in my well-fed "civilized" american counterparts today. It sickens and saddens me to feel the ignorance of these poor misguided simple folk.
I have taken part in almost every major demonstration on the west coast in the last few years...They have been getting larger and more violent...I do not like this. I just want peace...Yet I cannot keep silent when injustice appears. I will continue to speak against war whenever the occasion calls for it. I am not ashamed of it: on the contrary, I will be proud to say to my children (if there is anything left to exist on) that I had no part in destroying this planet and all its people...
I don't know many young people who are not opposed to war. My whole family is, all my friends are...And the number is growing. Everyone wants peace. My wish for peace does not end when the marching is over. I try and make my whole life a statement for peace. I pray for peace every single second of my life.
That is my desire.
I wish you many good days and I hope we meet some day when the world is free...I know some beautiful places here in Oregon...Some beautiful Rivers......
Love and good wishes,
*dylan quote surely not likely to be recognized by draft-board personnel - fn
20. Note from Ross, February 24th, 2003
Visionary Strangeness has expanded! Excellent. I want
to give a blogger this for a link.
A little scratching thought in the back of one of my
cortexes whispered: "Seek thou long forgotten pictures
of the monk of Mitspeh" Whichest I henceforth dideth
and lo: Fong lorgotten etc. which I humbly copy onto
thee in the hope the polloi may also gustatate on the
crazy charm of the M of M. Some backearth: Ol' Kaush
is snapped at a picknik we laid out on the lake bed of
the sea of Galillee during a kind of droughty period
about 1991 or 2. Any years much later the lake would
have been very full from a blessedly wet even snowy
winter (like now, pulling our fat out of the fire)...