once weekly,
usually on Saturdays
Let’s see what happens when your host (me) has nothing to say, and instead it’s open mike night. Step right up, speak your mind, tell a story, sing a song, whatever.
8/2/2025
Anything goes #39
17 responses to “Anything goes #39”
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Adriana
Lisa gave me a haircut and right after that I met a woman at the Garberville tourist bureau. She had crazy-colored hair, a nose ring, and a tattoo, a young one from the ecstasy generation, a raver with a little acid on the side. She agreed to a tour of the Lost Coast and followed me out to Whitethorn in her little Montana cruiser with the bumpersticker saying “Love First.”
As I’m a consummate tour guide we stopped in the grove outside Redway to show her the big redwood trees, then just past Whitethorn we parked at “The Dump Hole,” where we used to skinny-dip daily before we became uptight about our eroding bodies and the junkies began shooting up on the banks of the Mattole.
The water was very cold in mid-September, we discussed the prospect of swimming, I was surprised and excited when she dared me to jump in, and then we were standing naked on the bank, like it was the seventies all over again.
We swam around a while then floated each other, a water activity I had been “exposed” to in a cult-like organization called “The Path,” which I had been involved with 25 years earlier in New York.
We got to my cabin in the hills where I stashed my perishables, packed a picnic lunch, and headed down the trail along Whale Creek to the ocean. I took her hand, gave her a casual kiss, and we walked along the beach holding hands, kissing, hugging, enjoying the fruits of our attraction, including a peach, and then we sat in one of the cabins near Needle Rock and really made out.
It was a wonderful hike back up Needle Rock Road, we arrived exhausted at the top just as the sun was setting and the full moon rising. She pointed out some constellations and eventually a neighbor gave us a lift the last mile home where we made a nice dinner with lots of veggies and ended up in bed together. (It was the only time I ever sucked on a clit ring, and in the morning I was touched when she cried as she drove away.)
(I’ve use this photo for other sex stories, but this time that’s really “Adriana” and me…”
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Feels like a folk song, lovely moments from a lovely time. This is the whole damn point of being here.
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ya, those were the days, circa 2021, so what’s the point now?
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In 2021, I was still able to eat raw carrots. Those were the days, my friend.
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oops, i meant 2001, ancient history…
yesterday i realized i ain’t got no game anymore,
lost my mojo,
no confidence, no hope ,
as it applies to creating intimate adventures,
though still as outgoing as ever platonically…
the dating/mating game reminds me of
when i was a 19 year old new york cab driver:
cruising for a fare, down streets and avenues,
and then lo! a hand in to the air, ie, i had to get out
there to make it happen, si?
when i went to some open mics last winter
i did meet some nice people/women and
thought my life had changed or would soon…
finally got out of the house yesterday to
Reggae On The River, had a press pass, and just
that hour there opened up some irrational dream channels,
later at home i thought, why didn’t i say more to that
santa cruz beauty? then i had to laugh at my hopefulness,
hopelessness, just to have something like her in my life
somehow, laughing at myself like when i was 19 on mushrooms
in Mexico, so far from everything, in the jungles of Palenque…-
Everyone’s allowed moments of doubt, but I doubt that you got no game anymore. I’ve seen you in the flesh, and you’re still a handsome man. Maybe you’re old, but it’s a distinguished old, not a decrepit old. You should still be carrying condoms in your wallet, friend.
When I’m feeling better, or ‘if’, I intend going to some open mikes myself, just to watch and listen and applaud extra loud when there’s someone with a spark. It’s my firm belief that virtually all of America’s great artists, in virtually all the arts, are never known.
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This is the first cut on the first Fugs record I bought, circa 1968. The album is “It Crawled Into My Hand, Honest”, and the song is “Johnny Pissoff Meets the Red Angel”. This isn’t a wonderful recording, but you can still pick up the snappy drumming of Ken Weaver and some wonderful harmonica work, probably by an uncredited Peter Stampfel.
jtb
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Had to look up ahimsa, but thanks for the education. It’s a wild song, written long ago but it captures where my head’s at here and now.
I’m a pacifist, and old and tired. Even in a self-defense situation, it wouldn’t surprise me if I said “what the heck” and let someone kill me. I’ve never aimed a gun at another living thing, and couldn’t. I am the personification of tie-dye. But when someone else fires a gun and kills someone who deserves it, it makes me happy. What would make me happiest, a recurring fantasy, is someone else firing a machine gun at someone who deserves it, firing so many times that the experts could never be sure whether it was 27, 28, or 29 bullets that tore him apart.
By the by, Ed Sanders’ Tales of Beatnik Glory has arrived and I’ve started reading. It’s too early for a verdict, but the first twenty pages definitely make me want to read the next twenty pages.
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Doug, been meaning to ask, where did you get such good grammar?
did you go to college or is it AI generated, ie, spell check?-
I appreciate good grammar, so that’s the one class where I paid attention. Everything else in grades 7-12 was a waste of time.
And no AI, ever.
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Doug,
Ed Sanders is an odd character, and he has been married to another slightly odd character for 56 years. There’s no single word to characterize Ed, but “academic” comes as close as any other, considering he’s never held a teaching or formal research position. He has essentially lived on academic grants for much of his adult life, and has had two or three “in residence” gigs at academic institutions (neither teaching nor researching — just writing poems). I suppose if there’s a description hung on his mailbox it reads something like, “Ed Sanders: Making damn sure the military/industrial complex takes it in the ass on a slant for seven decades”.
John
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Well, jeez, don’t go making me think less of the guy. I like his writing and music, but you’re telling me, what, he’s never had a job doing shit work for shit people? Srsly, there’s nobody I know and love who hasn’t spent most of their lives doing shit work for shit people.
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Doug, I was speaking broadly. The guy is still writing poetry and still making trouble for the military industrial complex. He organized as many anti-war and anti-Pentagon demonstrations as anybody else, and spent some time in jail on multiple occasions for disturbing the rich. But he was primarily a poet, and there’s no money in that. But he was a good enough poet to, on a number of occasions, get a six or nine month grant to write poetry and give a couple of lectures. His four-year degree is in Greek, and he has some post-grad credentials as well. He might not be your kind of troublemaker, but he has certainly been a troublemaker for the wealthy and those who make their wad from selling weapons of war. I have little in common with most of my heroes, but almost all of them are troublemakers of one kind or another. The Fugs lost money on every album they issued: they were artists, not capitalists. It’s hard for me to get pissed off at Ed for not literally or figuratively shoveling shit for dimes.
John
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I’m not pissed at the guy, promise.
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“History isn’t made by a bunch of good guys and a bunch of bad guys . . . It’s just a bunch of guys.”
The last thing I did with my church was to “trick or treat for UNICEF”. The idea was that, on Halloween, we’d collect dimes and quarters (when dimes and quarters were worth something) instead of candy. Of course, most people gave us candy too. The front man for this fundraiser was “UNICEF Ambassador” Danny Kaye. We thought he must be pretty cool. Turns out, of course, that he was one of the biggest bastards in Hollywood. As one of the owners of KJR and a few other top 40 radio stations, he treated my favorite DJs like shit. He treated everybody like shit. He was a horrible human being. He was the exception to the history philosophy above.
I was 14 when I left the church. It turned out that life was way too complicated for religion to be an answer to anything. Danny Kaye remains a dead bastard. Ed Sanders seems to have given more than he has taken. That was my little point. You are welcome to be pissed at whomever you wish.
John
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I might not have known Danny Kaye was a horrible human being. There are so many HHBs, I’d need an IBM 360 to keep a database going. I’ve seen a few of DK’s old movies and they were weak and cornball (picture me rolling my eyes as he fake-joyously sang “I’m Hans Christian Anderson! Hans Christian Anderson!”). Didn’t know DK owned KJR, back when that was my rock’n’roll station of choice (KOL was a distant runner-up). All I knew was, dopey movie star, and he was the front man for the Seattle Mariners’ first ownership group, which as a baseball fan gave me reasons enough to dislike DK.
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“someone who deserves it”
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