Cafe At The End Of Time (3)

I hitchhiked from Chicago to Boston the summer of

1969. With me was a young black lady I hooked up

with shortly before I left. Near Pittsburg we were

picked up by a young man who told us he had just

returned from Vietnam. He was very animated and

gesticulating as he drove down the interstate at about

an hundred miles per hour.

“Man, ‘Nam was unbelievable…I’ll never be the

same… I drove a tank, and we’d stock up on booze,

drugs and food and get lost in the jungle for a month!

No one would fuck with us because we had a tank! I

fragged a lieutenant once…he was a greenie that

if you went into the bush with him leading was

likely to get you killed….I put LSD in his coffee

one morning in the mess hall…when it came on,

he just looked straight at me and said:  “YOU!!!”

they took him out in  a straight jacket.

There was no sense of morality there…you could

do anything and get away with it….I’ve got a gun

in the glove box, and if a cop stops us and if I think

I can get away with it, I’d shoot him…why not…”

I didn’t look in the glove box. After a while, he

stopped at a restaurant and bought us lunch. We

declined to get back on the road with him. He

treated us very sweetly.

It was that magic summer. We were totally taken

in by strangers on that trip, helped along the way.

A white boy and a black chick on an adventure?

We were a symbol of the time. Our last ride was

in a ‘55 Chevy listening to “Kansas City” by

Wilbert Harrison…iconic to say the least.

 Wilbert Harrison…now there was the name of a

Bukowski salesman if ever there was one….

Club 442, Madison, Wisconsin…it was on the

juke box there…the song was a “Kansas City Stroll”

or shuffle…the beach music of South Carolina saw its

roots there….power and sex in a slow strong beat…an

upbeat, not a blues…this is what the Beatles found.

                                      ****

My first wife and two of her friends were the only

radicals at Western Kansas State. She became a

varsity cheerleader just to stick it to the sorority

girls. One of her friends went to ‘Nam. After we

moved to South Carolina, this gentleman would

show up a few times over the years, always

unannounced, always bearing gifts and steaks.

He was a sweetheart, but from what he told us,

he never slept in the same place twice…always

driving his car around the country…endless

motels…constant motion. After a few of these

visits, we never heard from him again.

                                        ****

Where’s my country, Dude? What happened to it?

Things were going so great when I was born after

WWII…I could write about it, but what could I say

that isn’t already so obvious to anyone who cares to

look?

                                        ****

It’s been hard this life to find anyone who has a clue

as to what’s really going on. The impulse to go along

with everything people think is happening: Christmas,

Democracy, religion, society is so strong. Most people

have a string in their back that you pull and they tell

you what they’ve learned to think. You can tell which

ones they are, because it’s obvious that they’re trying

to look like someone else. No, the ones to talk to are

the ones that are a little dirty, a little scary…a little

crazy perhaps. Until you find them, just keep looking.

                                       ****

Burroughs didn’t write novels….rather, his books

were each a series of vignettes…scenes…dreams…

beautifully non-linear…more in tune with experience,

to my mind, than a series of episodes of “Leave It To

Beaver” that one would call one’s life: “ I don’t just

have memories, I have re-runs!”  Thank goodness I

stopped watching television years ago. I heard that a

Buddhist teacher did a ceremony in which he buried

a television as a symbol of evil…

                                       ****

I was meeting Joel at  “The Ten Spot”, a new jazz club

near Soho. A new coming band, “Dream Cartel”, was

scheduled. We had overcome the lump in the literary

road for now…tonight was for rowdy relaxation.  This

joint had tables, but also sofas and comfy chairs…a small

dance floor was positioned not near where the band was,

but at the opposite side of the room. At times, the whole

place was on its feet. It was an “absinthe bar”, but the

green fairy was only there in about 6% strength…I brought

my own supply. Joel was late…which was like saying

nothing. I had no reason to care, and every reason to enjoy

what was in front of me. A piano man was filling the

void with tinkles at the moment. The joint was about half

full….but it was early.  The folks were dressed in tasteful

plumage…there were a few standouts, but no one you’d

want to choke to death without further justification. It even

appeared that there might be one or two people worth

talking to….but then, I was an optimist.