wavingmonkey: Superman and the Edison sessions #1

wavingmonkey: Superman and the Edison sessions #1 If you don't know the trees you may be lost in the forest but if you don't know the stories you may be lost in life..... 'A Siberian saying'

The Stuff That Dreams are Made Of

     Laying in a two dollar guest house in Mellow Town
 I continued a couple of months brewing over  on "The Four Nobel Truths".
Third of the three kinds of suffering is all pervasive suffering. The under
laying foundation of discontent and naivety of the origination of suffering
which is our conditioning . The Buddha said,"The suffering of being
conditioned is not apparent when it arises remains or cease, but it is still
the cause of our suffering". Samuel Beckett's, Waiting for Godot, popped
into my thoughts.Two friends waiting on Godot and the action implies"
nothing is a thing that has to be done".

I was writing to a good friend of mine recently about our down and out
days at the Highlander. The Highlander was a seven or eight story apartment
on Lomo Alto near Lemmon Ave right at the edge of Highland Park. Across
Lemmon Ave was Craddock Park were I jogged each morning or evening
this was the juice that kept me going. Back on the other side of Lemmon was
the jazz club Strictly Taboo were I spent some of the little money I had
available on scotch while wondering why God gave me such little feet.

Of course, the Highlander had seen its better day and certainly tonier
clientele. The basement held parking and rooms long ago vacated. One large
room with adjoining rooms was the Europa Spa. I always envisioned the
Highland Parkers getting their butts rubbed and hairdoo's done up there.
It would have been very Texas glam in its time. There were many storage
rooms with loads of furniture for the use in above apartments. All kinda that
cheap antique quality you find prevalent in today's junk shops. Among the
secrets buried in these walls were whispered mummers of past memories.

 The lobby,as good as I can recall, was curved marble walls with doors and
entry ways going here and there. On the left was the old managers window
were a dear woman in her sixties sat forlornly watching that the unwelcome
stayed away and the rent money didn't skip out. In the center waited the old
antique European styled brass cage elevator or lift some called it. Everyone
loved this old lift, solid old world craftsmanship and as you lifted up you held
a brief view of the lobby until disappearing into the ceiling and floors above.

A large part of the tenants were gay and generally older like myself. So
returning via way of the ole lifty was always an adventure at two am in the
morning. Going up in the elevator many a drunk gays would openly declare
themselves the best cock sucker in  Dallas with an arched expectant
eyebrow. Being a veteran of these late night elevator episodes roomy and I
would politely decline. Early mornings rides on old lifty were always an
adventure and topic for hilarious reenactments once we were safe behind
our own door.

My friend had the readers eye for plot characters and he visited with 
the manager enough that she reveled to him her warm secret. The only thing
she really wanted out of this life now was a real leopard skin coat. Roomy
telling me about the talk said 'he wished he had the money to buy her a
leopard skin coat', I mean that's all she wants ,for Gods sake. Living with her
was 'the son' early middle aged cigar smoking lurker of the basement he had
the Herman Munster look. I am sure he thought I was the lurker of his
basement.I had visions of him listening to those whispers while he lurked
about the Highlander catacombs.

 Two souls adrift were we. The hippie scheme of changing Amerika went off
track a bit so there we were bettin a quarter on a quarter and a cup of coffee.
Mostly  I did odd jobs here and there for rent,food and refreshments
for the night. Roomy being the school trained reader began handing me the
better quality books like the french existentialist Celine and the master crime
fiction writer Raymond Chandler. I particularly liked the quotes Chandler's
pulp novels ; The Big Sleep: Marlowe; "you know what he'll do when he
comes back? he'll kick my teeth out,then kick me in the stomach for
mumbling". Only Humphrey Bogart could deliver lines written like that.

Celine's "Journey into the End Night" burned pessimistic  images in my brain
like, describing the light shining through Venetian blinds casting parallel lines
of  light and shadows across his bedroom walls intersected  by patterns of
swashed cockroach bodies. Conjoining nihilist images and our persistent
'ennui' was like wet and  water or hot with fire. That was the registry in our
cynical  humorous lives.

We laid on mattress on the floor and read  until it was time to go to our
water hole to make certain this wasn't the night we missed something.
The Stoneleigh did seem able to provide entertainment on a fairly regular
basis and mostly I ended up the night stumbling happily to my 'beater' pickup.

 The other cultural experience was foreign movies and again the detective
mystery movies by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammet. Since film noir
generally was the film technique it harmonized with our register on life.
Reading,watching and living noir was not bad. My instincts warned it should
feel bad I ought to mature and achieve something but I was tripping the lights
noir. The European directors examined our faults  with a kind indication that
suggested, this is how that is and this is life, isn't it.

This noir bubble moved about as I moved. The stuff dreams are made of.

Episode 3 Are you my mummy?

Yes, in no way do I mean that I have bared my soul to the church.
Nor am I in a bare naked philosophical discourse. I'm butt naked
at around mid-night in the Sacred Heart Church of Cloudcroft
New Mexico chilled, knees swollen bone tired. What to do.I am
certainly aware that I have put myself in a unfavorable position having
placed all my faith in the faith that no late night repentant will come
through the door.

Everything I looked at was a hard wood to lay on except the carpet
behind the pulpit.So there I placed my wet cloths and looked for
something to cover myself for chill and modesty. In the perusal for
clothing I ventured  into small side vestry off  stage and there found
a chest of drawers with nothing but altar linens. To my credit I
declined these as inappropriate for their or my purposes. In my fruitless
search however for a warmer substitute it became apparent I was to
wear altar linen for the night.

As I moved about the church my knee finally locked up so I was walking
similarly like the Pharaoh's Mummy.I paid no heed as I was in want of
cover . Back inside the vestry I removed all the linen from the
chest of drawers and laid down behind the pulpit as the best alternative
to a sorry situation. Inspecting the linen it was apparent the right way was
simply to warp the narrow thin linen around my legs around and around
then up around the stomach and so on. The finished product was as
might be surmised, a bad imitation of the Mummy.

A man cant take a good look at himself until he has covered his ass. However
the moment came when I laid down on the wet pillow and there looking
down was the Crucifix. Jesus looked in my eyes . I also looked into Jesus
unblinking gaze. After some growing introspection and  comfortableness  I
offered that "I know this isn't what you had in mind Jesus, with me at your
altar naked wrapped in altar linen. I not a bit happy about this myself !

"Jesus", This looks bad,real bad. I'm not proud a bit.about this situation.
I have all the respect in the world for the church. Jesus had a way of
 lookin kinda deep in me. Those non-judgmental thou compassionate
eyes. So I confessed all the lies I had ever told. I could remember an
the time Jerry, Conrad and I had stole money out of my mothers purse
so me could steal her car for an adventure down Balmorhea way in the
Davis Mountains. A Long night of confession until dawn but I'm
sure Jesus had a lot of late night company.He seemed to offer encouragement

" Yes Sir" I was gona change my ways  There was no two ways about that.
All the drinkin and dope smoken,..! Dope!, my God I had that lid of pot
still in my shirt pocket! Desperately I reached my shirt pocket and there the
of grass lie secured in a zip lock baggy. Hum...The knees were not very
cooperative and unwrapping and re wrapping would be just too much I looked
for another alternative. The faded plastic roses in the pulpit flower pot offered
a possibility. I lifted the flowers from their place and stuff the stash for safe keepin.
That's it Jesus, I can't take it any more.
Like I said, "There's no question bout that"," I am a changed man".

If lighten had suddenly struck me from the Crucifix I would not have
been the least bit surprised. I have expected a fiery finger that wrote
the Ten Commandments to stick the floor I laid on " thou shall not beget
with pot in my church" , with after thought the finger post scripted..
" what could you be thinking" ?!

A troubled night went all to slowly. If you want to be honest with yourself
start at the beginning.I had many confessions to tell Jesus.

The church door opened with a small elderly Mexican lady slipped through
at the crack of dawn. My great fear at that moment was I'd give her
a heart attack. So in all concern I arose to the setting position from behind
the pulpit wrapped in altar linen and in as cultured voice as I had in me said.


" I don't mean to frighten you mam",..........". Ahhhhhhhhhhhh ",she turned and
fled the scene of my misery.


"Well I guess it's time to go". I flew into my jeans and shirt while spinning
toward the flower pot to retrieve the evidence.. I hit the street looken like
a desperado on the run down Highway 82.

to be discontinued..........First two editions already posted

Episode 2 from; Cow Road and Altar Linen

Hail justa beatin down on my roof shelter. Hail was falling
around me in a circle indicated by the roof. Its always crazy
to view yourself in these iffy situations like what was my
reason for this or why did I forget this or that..It did not get to if
I get out of this alive assertion cause before it came to that
I had decided my knees could not fail me now regardless of
the their complaints.. At first pause in hail storm I was out of there.
I would come back for my gear when I found my car.


I walked and walked but the hail had pasted. What had failed
to pass was nagging knees. I practiced the art of lightly steppin.
No heels first just the balls of my feet touching the road
then laying an even flow motion till full weight was transferred
from one knee unto the next over and over till the next horizon
came and went.It was the suffering of bad knees hell realm .

Finally I came to a lone road side trailer house. There a women
was tending her vegetable garden. The garden women stood as
I walked gingerly past ,"ya lost, Mister" she called, "No, No", weakly
I replied. Thinking to myself ,"Of course I am lost damn it women",
do you think I am out here prancing like a diva in front of your damn
trailer for arts sake! Its a well accepted fact that a man should never
admit to any kind of confusion or loss . We would rather the next step
be over into the abyss of hell.
On I walked.

About sunset I found a highway and struck my thumb out like
some mile stone had been made and progress was underway.
But which side of the road to stand? I stood the side chosen
and waited for my deliverance to arrive. It wasn't too bad I had
always been lucky at hitch-hiken and after a short while a van
of hippies pulled over and the side door rolled open and in
I hopped to the smell of sweet smoke.

I was tired. Getting off my knees made me realize fancy
pants steppin took a lot of effort. "Where you headed buddy"?
",White Canyon" , I replied. "Where's that", the driver wanted
to know. "White Canyon Park, I think", says me. On we drove.
After some minutes the driver says :"we're headed to such and
such" "Is that goin toward Cloudcroft", Says I? "No, No, we past
Cloudcroft while back, " "Stop the truck"! I yelled.

There I was standing on the side of the Highway my mood was growing darker
then my pitiful heart. However, I reasoned  now I knew which side of the
frigging road to stand on! If I could have climbed out of my body I
would have punched the shit outa myself right then and there. However I
reasoned its possible I couldn't keep me from stompin my self's ass.
This was simply too existential for my emotional state to abide.
A new opportunity came driving toward me and my dark mind luckily.

This angel chariot emanated as an old fifties Chevy pick up.
"We're goin in to Cloudcroft " said the angel,."Me too", says I.
"Get in the back". I realized hypothermia going fifty miles per
hour in the back of this ole pick up. How far to Cloudcroft I
thought as I worked my muscle shivers in fast massage.I'll pass
on delivering a long "how cold was it". Those shivers were
strongest shiver jerks I have had.

The ole pick up pulled up to a stop on Main Street,Cloudcroft N.Mexico.
I leap from the pick up with plenty of thank yous. Straight to a westerner
styled long narrow bar and ordered peanuts and beer. Its all they served.
I looked around refraining myself from screaming " I am back from out there,
I survived ! Call off the man hunt", " I m still alive! "beers all around".
Nobody paid the least bit of attention.

Bartender brought my beer and peanuts. I inquired about a room ,he snorted,
"this is fourth July ain't no rooms in this town,". Nobody seemed the least
bit aware of my episode. I considered with more attention my situation.
I was warming up and more comfortable. Then again, the bar would soon
close and I couldn't curl up right there and sleep the night. I paid my bill and
went outside to survey the possible opportunities that this hamlet might provide.


Nothin looked very hopeful  both right or left. I was feelin the chill
and thinkin more determinedly to be out of the elements. Finally a little
further to my left I saw a small tiny Catholic church. It was like a toy
church..Something tourist might find adorable. I sought shelter from
the chill walking across Main street also known as Highway82.

Sacred Heart Catholic Church's door opened freely for my weary
bones I stepped inside closing the wooden door quickly behind.
A few rows of pews and then the podium awaited on a small platform.

I thought it might be better to remove my wet cloths away from my
shivering muscles.There stood I naked in Sacred Heart Catholic church.
Above me the levitating Crucifix forgiving my sins.
I would need plenty of that..........

to be continued.....

Lost on Cow Road or Dont Wrap Yourself in Alter Linen

I should know better then tell on myself but
I was never oneto keep secret a good tale about myself
or others.
More probably its beyond my written skills and goina
to be too long for me to keep the effort to make
it a good read but if you can stay with me on this
one the material is worthy your time.
Its only my talent that might be in question.

Heart broke and love lost can make a foolish
man go more deep into wilderness then
common sense should allow. However pain is no
companion of sound thinking on the high seas of emotions.

So one holiday arrived and I thought to head
out beyond where I been before with
no mind to personal limitations. A man can't
worry about the crafts of survival when his
 carrying burning sticks in his heart.
Things just take care of themselves, don't they?

I drove out toward New Mexico full of those question of life
and meaning driven by certain conclusion that I had lost in
the game of love. Usually the truth of lost love can't be
figured real quickly because a guy will lie and collude
 against him self so that he can justify stayin in the chase
for the one who drove him half mad. I needed to be lost deep
 in wilderness cause when I pulled my heart out of my chest
I could not abide witness to see this pitiful beating pump.
From heaven Hank Williams looked down and started
writing a love song. On I drove.

I drove along Hwy 82 toward Artesia still headed west.
 Cloudcroft appeared in my windshield as a wild enough and
pretty place to get lost some where 'out there ' in the canyons
of the Apache braves. Kindred souls since childhood days.
I drove through town bought the provisions I would need for survival.
A case of Budweiser some Vienna sausage, crackers,lid of grass.
I had brought from Dallas.

Beyond town I saw an exit to White Canyon and there I parked
loaded up my back pack and looked toward a likely direction
to take. Within the hour I was walkin a ravine of beautiful white
bark birch trees. All chalky straight up they shot in sweet mountain
air. My god, they were a sight. A large smooth bolder invited
 a good place to roll a sweet joint and reflect my fortunes
and sorrows. Between the grass and the God's divine handy work
there in the ravine I spontaneously stood up and rhymed an invocation
to the grand creator of this moment then satisfied I lifted my pack
and was on my way.

Bad knees are a curse to a boulder hopper over a long period of time and
soon my knees were complaining about the obtuse angles they were
subjected to. In the spirit of cooperation I would oblige stopping long
enough to fire up another joint and assess the shifting mood as I elevated
my spirits. Somewhere it occurred that I might take stock of my location
not knowing where I was and no path finder either. Onward into the fog
I came to a dry bed creek crossing. Crossing over I looked below
seeing a small number of cows grazing.

Here also I cross my first limitation in this story which is a one hundred
and eighty degree backward sense of direction. There I stood thinking this
seems the way but knowing the other is probably right. I turned
counter-intuitively the right way. Onward. After some time I looked over
my shoulder to see all the cows had come out the ravine to follow me.
Me stoneder then a drunk waltzing mouse. If I stopped the cows also
would stop and wait for me to continue my walk so they could follow.
This was worrisome to my grass haze induced mind "what do they want,
this cows" ? On it went,I would stop, the cows would stop
I would go forward the cows would follow and so forth.
It started raining not hard but my shirt and pants were sure wet.

I was worrying about the direction I had taken and with effort decided
to turned against the cows and begin to walk toward them. An aggressive
gesture both to the cows and to me. They would hurry ahead of me and
stop looking back at me like " have you lost your friggen mind"? I would
determinedly wave my arms and they turning reluctantly would hurry and
stop and turn to ascertain if I had come to my senses and abandoned this
foolhardy notion of walking the wrong way.

Things had to come to a head because the cows were decidedly getting
agitated and I appeared to behaving in a threatening manner. Then we
came to a problem. I could see ahead a raise into some birch groves
which the cows sought refuge away from me. The wrong way going
mad man. There they stood on slanted ground looking bugged eyed
at me. I knew these guys wouldn't stood long on that sloop and just
as I started to go past they sure enough down they came running hard
I jumped  back and the cows headed back to the ravine .Nobody was
happy with each other.

All this and me getting chilled gave me pause. Looking about my sur-
roundings I saw a group of birch at the top of a rise and there I thought
to make my stand until morning. Then it started to hail.


 I had made a little place amongst the birch trees close enough to to bend
my ground pad between the trees to provide a roof. Now its July but its
hailin and I had no jacket or warm cloths. I better light a joint so as to think
better. Its chilly but still light and Iam thinking it might get cold tonight and
I don't really have much in the way of clothing shelter just out here with my
heart and all. Hum.

to be continued.................

#9 #9

                                           The Beatles at Rishikesh with Maharishi...........                                        

Its is said that the Beatles wrote 40 odd songs while at Rishikesh.
This was the foundation for the White Album and the song Revolution #9 ,
as was related to me, #9 was written in the #9 hut [seen above]
and is where the Beatles stayed while at Rishikesh. As I recall the
album received mixed reviews as was the order of the time and
as was the bias toward the Beatles. To this day the album has been listed
in many 100 top greatest albums ever released .Trippy skull diggery
if I recall correctly was my first hearing of the 'White Album'.
It seemed geared to be heard on LSD.
And was.


What prompted this post a few days ago a long grey haired Aussie
joined my walk toward my monastery. He was quit enjoyable and
related several other stories that I intend to post at some other time.
Ross related that he was in Rishikesh and came across another
ole hippie type whom said he could get them both in the Maharishi's
ashram.The famous ashram had been abandon since the mid-eighties..

The Ashram backs onto the Ganges and I believe has about fifteen areas
with several large buildings and eighty four stone circular huts that devotes
stayed in while practicing Transcendental meditation.

Over this more then twenty years the place has been left to the Indian
Forestry Service.The jungle has grown up around the buildings
exerting a 'melancholia in the vine' snooze. No telling the stories
and experiences here. Certainly the Beatles stay brought to the
Hippie generation a collective interest in the Hindu religions.
Today we are witnessing the steady and sure advance
of eastern thought into west..
 Rishikesh had a small influence in today's embrace of the east.

The 'White album was the last album released by the Beatles.
The discord in the recording studio on Apple street was the end
of maybe the most influential band of our time.I remember many
a gashing of hippie teeth at the news
To this day I miss the elan of John Lennon.

John Lennon originally wrote Sexy Sadie's title as Maharishi . He was
disillusioned when Maharishi made sexual advance toward Mia Farrow
who also was there at the time. " Sexy Sadie look what you've done.
You've made a fool out of everyone".