thirty years ago

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When I was close to death by neurological rejection of the horrors of life on this planet, maybe THE most beset by their own body person still amongst the general public, just beyond hurt, beyond ANY pretense of "normal" and could ONLY drive to give myself the comfort of feeling like I was on my way out of my electrocuted skin, I ended up on the beach at the mouth of the Mattole River.

Petrolia, California. Cattle rancher, mill worker, logger central. [Now it's pot farming, but never mind.] There were I'M WITH YOU, RUSH bumper stickers on at least half the pickups you'd see there.

Everyone in the whole town was sweet to me. They invited me to the Grange Hall Dance. They came and sat with me at the cafe. They would stop and chat with me at the combo post office and general store. They looked for places I might rent cheaply enough for me to afford to live there permanently.

Do you know what the chic little bald guys in dresses at the Zen monastery did when, a couple years later, a woman showed up there in similar shape as I had been in Petrolia?

They called the police.

Don't be a pig about Rush. Fuck you. DON'T.

pipe up any time....