That’s really freaky, man…*
May 15, 2004
May 15, 2004
Scenes from my driveway, continued x 4
Deadbeat neighbor: “Good morning.” Me: “Speak for yourself. And that’s my newspaper. Give it back or so help me I’ll beat you with a stick.”
May 15, 2004
A Poem from 1968, Revised by the Ghost of Richard Brautigan, 2004 (second in a series)
November 3 May 15 I’m sitting in a cafe strip mall eatery drinking a [Diet, low-carb] Coke. A fly is sleeping on a paper napkin. I have to wake him up, so I can wipe my glasses. There’s a pretty girl babe chick hottie young woman I want to look at engage in spirited conversation, because I’m very interested in her mind.
May 15, 2004
Brautigan, Revisited – an American love story
Chapter 9: One Well-Informed Fish Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. “What an obnoxious fish,” Liz said. “Yeah,” I sighed, “but you really can’t blame him. After all, he read the newspapers.” “Well,” she said, brushing a few crumbs off her lap, “in that case then, good for him.” **** Chapter 10
May 15, 2004
Accoutrements
…I think I’ll get me a pair of those wire-framed shooting glasses, the kind with the yellow lenses that Hunter S. Thompson made famous in the early 70s. And a poncho. I think I’ll get a poncho, too. And while I’m at it, I think I’ll start using the phrase “that’s really freaky, man,” as often as possible. Which should be cool. And also really freaky, man. So. All in
Peter Fonda reminisces, offers his thoughts on Abu Ghraib
Fonda: “…During the production of Easy Rider, a few of us traveled down to New Orleans for a coupla’ weeks to film the Mardi Gras parade scenes. Hopper would get fried on acid and quart bottles of Miller High Life and would disappear for long stretches, then show up late at night, his arms covered up to the elbows in fresh gore. ‘What the hell’d you do?’ I asked him