Hardly Strictly

me the black seals a few of us in our stoned drunken glorious euphoric acid baked pod encapsulated within among amidst the multitude we gather in the meadow gather together to celebrate to immerse ourselves

to listen learn participate

doctor john having sailed his psychofunkadelicious whitebelly blacksoul riverboat self all the way here from that french confederate creole haven our majestic lady with a perverse jambalaya of petticoats rye whiskey french reds latex and blindfolds

the city of new orleans

doctor john having come to join us all in reverie and merriment come to join us all in these hardly strictly shenanigans of bluegrass by the bay deep within the whimpering fog long since defeated by the early october sunshine

right place right time

and we the black seals a loose confederacy of dunces of former adherents of the faithful grown older with our aches and pains but looser with our morals and attitude

comfortable in a certain aura of what the fuck that tends to ward the harsh from our mellow

and for that we are grateful

and we the black seals who many a year ago came together about around a bottle of black seal rum imported all the way from that colonial home of knee length shorts and sock garters grown from some rock out in the atlantic ocean imported to our baghdad by the bay

oh what a world

what a world

a gathering around this bottle not out of any committed love for black seal or even rum in general

but rather simply from the inspiration of the moment

one pill makes you smaller

and we the black seals we now gather many years later here in our decrepit presence we now gather to express our love and admiration for doctor john our momentary journey into the heart of blacklit darkness a delving into sunday morning irreverence doctor john our own personal jesus of the hour our own personal satan

god is love is jesus is satan is god is love is jesus is satan

and we the black seals we who yes openly practice idolatry of the most blasphemous and perverse manner we shake our hips we wave our arms we do the funky chicken

we play air guitar air banjo air piano

we play air fiddle with a grin and a giggle

and we give thanks for our sacred church of the temporary respite because regular life won’t let us behave this way

and we pursue our own personal vices be they weed women or wine

and we oooh we ahhh as a big pink balloon comes bouncing back through the crowd launched from some amorphous virginal birth canal up near the stage up it pops bops floats

guided by its own faith its own fate

anonymous hands outstretched rising up above the mass of shaggy waggy bags of flesh and hair jiggling wiggling fingers dancing

here is the church
here is the steeple
open the doors
and see all the people

big pink balloon bouncing bopping

the people wanting only to touch his garbs they say oh they do say he has cured the sick raised the dead

and on the third day the big pink balloon bouncing bopping a gift from the goddess herself she who so loves the world that she farts bubbles of balloons spews them upon her worshipers and on the third day her spawn settles upon a sharpened nail

bursts

with a pop

just like that cycle of life

big pink balloon bops and pops its bloody remains plummeting to earth only to be picked up by an errant seagull who swoops down leaving a jet stream of biologic jetsam and anal jism upon the knit cap lidded cowboy hipsters from the mission an avian packrat fascinated captured by the shiny bauble that is this fragment of latex

who flies away carries it over the hill soaring with its mates over the presidio over crissy field over fort mason along the coast down to fisherman’s wharf circling down to land amidst the fatcat sealions piled one upon the other on the dock at pier thirty nine piled up in some orgiastic slithering and braying bacchanal

one of whom snaps at this avaricious avifauna specimen startles shakes confidences the shredded corpse of our savior the big pink balloon flips flies up into the air

a slow mo tumble cartoonishly animated by sparkles of salty sea sweat

snagged on either end by two other feathery cousins who pull tug stretch jesus armstrong across the span of its invisible cross that we bear

till it snaps yet again our buster keyton savior flip flopping air amoeba tumbling pink cotton candy only to land within the random trumpeting snout of some bubbling bull sea lion

in mid coitus

its rigormortic aquatic cock let loose upon his harem a finny fuck for any and all

who gulps swallows screams a horribly murdered prostitute pre-ghostly wail rolls over his rooster pointing sunward tongue flailing into an effervescent gurgle

a gagging

a sudden stillness

a still silence

a blubbery cock cooked cadaver surrounded by panicked females

witnessed by a towheaded minnesotan all of two and a half years on this here earth who up until this moment had been laughing and pointing at the silly seals while sitting comfortably in his daddy’s arm but who now also

sits still and silent

scarred

who we know will grow up this scene etched in his memory a cave painting of satirical savagery that will haunt him in his loneliness as he ages that will keep him awake at night force him drive him to a career as a midnight to dawn disc jockey of shocking proportions in the northern lake region near the canadian border pandering to anti-immigrant sympathies those who loathe the pasty skinned canadian interlopers who sneak down here to the land of milk and honey to the land of opportunity

to the home of the brave

to become one of god’s select

a fallen saul blinded by the expiring otariidae on his trip to damascus many years before a sinner who we know will grow up to seek desperately needed help from the easy high of cocaine

who we know will grow up to go from cocaine to rehab

from rehab to alcohol and nicotine and back to rehab

from rehab to jesus to crystal meth and back to rehab

from rehab to four day a week freudian analysis and ecstasy and enlightenment to wandering the land across the plains across the mountains across the desert clad only in a burlap robe and carrying a bowl to accept alms and morsels provided by the faithful

to wander through the crowds the committed we the hardly strictly devoted who believe in the father the son the doctor with a feather in his cap

we the black seals

we who are grateful we who are blessed in our stoned drunken glorious euphoric acid baked pod encapsulated within among amidst the multitude who gather in the meadow who gather together to celebrate to immerse ourselves

to listen learn participate and all that

Jesup, part the ninth

and that first week the same parties out in the same break in the woods maybe down by the bend in the river after work after dinner the same friends the same stories the same shit

some places time it just stands still

and that weekend they headed over toward a little bit of someplace not far this side of savannah just south of there off in some big old field to pitch a tent under the moon at the edge of some big piney wood spend a couple of days listening to some pickin' and grinnin' kicking up the dust all barefoot and shirtless maybe wear his straw cowboy farmer's hat he and sally they hopped into his buddy stevie's white barracuda along with miz annie green

packed stuffed into the cuda with tents and sleeping bags and a cooler full of beer and a bottle maybe two of wild turkey and a bag of lemons from the tree in miz annie green's back yard

and copious amounts of marijuana a bag of athens dick weed and some thai sticks ron had brought home from atlanta a bag of gainesville green miz annie had brought home from her year at the university of florida she the turncoat she who even in the company of true believers sported her gator orange

and the first ten miles of the ride it rained that late south georgia afternoon rain rained for ten miles and then they drove another ten miles as the bastard sun still high in the sky expressing his disdain upon the land as the sun sucked the steam up from the rain slicked tar and gravel back roads

as if god himself were chasing the dragon inhaling the sliding steaming sweat of the earth's cunt and her offspring offered up on an asphalt runner suckled up through some celestial straw zeus flicking his bic big plastic rainbow colors lighting up his crack pipe creation

grumpily mumbling

ah noah we need to renegotiate

and they drove through that south georgia summer afternoon rain shower and they turned off the tar and gravel road onto a dirt road rain clotted dust chunks flying behind them a dirt road that followed the field pine trees to the right cow field to the left followed the dirt road on around the little patch of woods where the field doglegged on around pulled the car over under an old pecan tree sitting on the edge of the field

ding dong cling clang dingle dang

the sweet clear ringing bells draped upon their bovine necks their tones so sweetly calling oh come to the church in the dell just a back wooded side of a small cow field that steve and ron had discovered in their explorations these mushroom hunters these kit carsons of fungus they explored they farmed they were gatherers

oh the way those magic fungi just sprung forward so soon after the rain pushing through piles of cow shit popping up in just such short order crying out for them to claim their magic consume their powers it was indeed a castaneda moment

and with practiced precision the four leapt out of the car each with a paper bag in hand over the middle strand under the upper strand of barbed wire that separated the those from the them a hit and run mission they fanned quickly across the field stopping at each prominent and steaming pile of cow shit bending over taking a quick glance ignoring the stringy white capped spaghetti looking fungus searching for that stumpy curved top with the purple edges

almost expecting the cheshire cat to be lounging atop hookah hose to lips

and upon finding it that mystical special it that nonchalant flip of the coin that sitting in the meadow daisy in hand plucking petals she loves me she loves me not who knows will this be the special one that shares its love tonight

bending over reaching just above the shit surface giving it a short sharp but loving tap and a thump leaving her with a shudder and shake birthing little truffle tripping babies dropping her spores for tomorrow's rain tomorrow's psychedelic scout harvesting the daily dose

they picked their self-determined allotted quota never picked more than they could personally consume code of honor among shroomers they picked their quota proceeded on down toward savannah a couple of journey joints a couple of beers to tide them over the cuda roared down the back road

on their way to be reborn

happy

on their way to rejoicing and singing his praises for jesus is near them and there he will stay yes yes they're happily on their way pulled into the campsite before dark pitched a couple of small tents in a site beneath a large pine tree right in between an old couple with one of those fancy camper trailers and a hippie couple with sleeping bags rolled out in the back of a sixty-three chevy sidestepper

needed a paint job little bit of rust running alongside the wheel wells

they listened to music that whole night the whole night long watched them play on stage they danced stomped in the dust until midnight then hung out til three four in the morning sitting around various campfires wandering through the camp talking to those they knew those they recognized but couldn't remember and those they had no fucking clue about hippies rednecks church-goers students farmers truckers a few navy boys up from kings bay steve and annie ron and sally

they wandered they laughed they shared stories they listened to tales of bragging and woe

later that night maybe it was morning in the tent ron loosened her halter top and ron loosened her shorts and ron picked her banjo while the fiddles moaned outside til dawn when

they all went skinny dipping in the river big rope swing hanging from a big live oak out over the river rednecks with farmer's tans hippie chicks with big flopping tits swinging out in the dull coastal sun screaming swinging dropping into the black water scaring the hell out of catfish and gators and moccasins and gar alike

late afternoon fire going boiling down the mushrooms truck camping couple wandered over they shared smoked a joint or three or four they all peered into the skanky solution they strained out the shriveled mushroom bodies

forgive them father they know not what they do

and ron dumped in a package of pre-sweetened grape kool aide didn't help much but choking that shit down without some sort of sugary somethin' somethin' gagged their gut stained their souls they poured off six equal parts let it cool just a bit held their nose gulp gulp gulp about ten minutes later ron walked back to one side of the magnolia sally went to the other

they puked smiled kissed each other on the cheek fetched a beer wandered the camp

steve and miz annie went off with the hippie couple for a while ron and sally wandered around walked down to the river walked up to the stage the front porch string band they played a corinna corinna that melted ron's soul melted his fingers and eyeballs they moved in a funky chicken meets hoedown wiggle squiggle ron getting giggles from the crowd sally getting those whistling stares her cute little country mary ann titties jiggling braless beneath that grass and clay stained shirt tied up in a knot above her belly button bejeweled with

a little black daub of mud

and they slow danced to a lonesome ballad of the conquered of love and love lost of outsiders coming down from a far away land and taking what was not theirs and ron held sally held her rocked her listened to her fears listened to her heart listened to god strumming the fine hairs on the back of her neck

the bands left the stage they dispersed throughout the camp ron and sally along with them they found an old fiddle player keeping time with a young guitar player they found an unbroken circle they played with their fire their fire played with them and ron and sally walked the camp walked the woods they walked the river

they walked through jerusalem just like john

walked through this home that was no longer home the trees at the edge of camp murmuring above the rustling of the leaves stirring in the early morning coastal breeze murmuring suggestive promises and threats

coyote tiptoeing tauntingly from behind the bush teeth bared hissing

what are you doing back boy why didn't you keep on going you caught that train why'd you get off

and sally held his hand led him through the wilderness of campfires and banjoes and drunken braggadocio and accusations and murmurings of love of lost lost of love found led him over behind a pile of felled logs where he could unzip and unleash a long overdue piss the violence of his stream spraying splattering against the trunk spattering down onto his ankles creating giving birth to tiny yellowish mud gobs each hanging on to a leg hair desperately clinging  a thousand little smiley faces staring up at him from within the shadows with teeny weeny glowing eyes

twinkling in the predawn

little fangs bared

and then washed away with the walk back across a grassy meadow thick with the not yet morning dew grasshoppers with wings so wet they can't lift them to fly away mosquitos swarming for their morning meal

doubt retreated into just another wearied end of the road amusement a sigh of relief a questioning shake of the head a nodding acknowledgement to the god of sleep the bus slowed to a halt he stumbled down the steps made his way back into the light

the sun came up and it was sunday morning

no time to sleep ain't got no time to quit goddamn don't they know it's time for sunday morning gospel music

sunday morning

walking through jerusalem just like john

and the sun came up and it was a bluegrass sunday morning reserved for god and singing his praises starting with sunday morning vespers with the ringing of the church bells a glorious announcement to the day they're ringing for them all and they all gather round the alter that is the stage under the little grove of wind break poplar and they pray that their souls be free they all turn to each other they say hey

they ask one another

and how are you on this fine day within the confines of this fine church on this fine sunday morning

they kicked back on that fine sunday morning ron and sally she leaning back against him in his arms he leaning back against a tree they held each other while the singers sang the fiddlers fiddled the banjo players picked sally ran her finger along the tattoo on his forearm his tattoo a dark dark silhouette of a blackbird perched upon a sharp bowie knife a black heart plunged stuck upon its tip letting go bloody black drops onto a stained blackened banner emboldened with the stars and stripes of these here united states of america

punkabilly bluegrass gospel with a hint of last night's mushroom

they ron and sally they the filthy earth children campground dirt caked campfire soot smudged on their bare feet on their ankles and legs dirt beneath their fingernails they sang all sorts of people gathered around them they all sang they sang ballads and hymns they sang in drunken fungal baked hungover harmony they slapped spoons they clapped they yee hawed they yahoo'd they got up kicked up some dust singing his praises

and they steve and annie green wandered over they said hey ron and sally they said hey

and miz annie swayed back and forth with her hands over her head palms open fingers splayed

and they loaded their things back into the barracuda and they made the slow drive home to jesup

ron and sally snuggled into the back seat him sitting back in the corner behind the driver's seat she spread across what little was left of the back her head on his lap her dirty bare feet toes wiggling out the window