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My Dear Maxine, Just a few other connecting thoughts...(With a "hopeful" prayer that I'm not boring you with a "dangling conversation," as Ms Joan Baez sang last night with Dar Williams at the KPFA benefit) For Pat and Terry, I indeed "put in an appearance"; I stopped by "Camp KPFA" on my way into work and had a talk with Daniel, a fellow writer--who told me that Joan Baez's tour bus had just pulled into the Berkeley Community Theater... I told him a funny story that came to mind; all the good feelings of summertime/early fall at the Greek Theatre for "Bread and Roses," the folkie fundraiser enabling musicians to tour prisons and hospitals that Mimi Farina, sister to Ms. Baez, put so much time and energy into when I was doing my "Committee for Arts and Lectures" gig for Econ classmate Steve Roth (last heard of having become a stockbroker in Manhattan, calling up his old KALX DJ pals with his first "million dollar commission check" allegedly in hand a few years back)... *MIDI sounds of Bob Dylan, I don't know how it all got started, I don't know what they do with their lives...But me I'm still on the road... So, one year--and there were only a few, from around 1975 to 1980, before alleged "lack of interest" switched the venue to comedy--backstage is abuzz with hoopla, hoopla...mystery guest...gonna be Bob, man... After I finish up my lightweight duties backstage (kind of a "babysitter to the stars" with a walkie-talkie, no complaints on my part), I go out to Guest Seating and meet up with Amy...She's dying to know Did ya see him? Is he here?...In my best pre-hard-mocking "cynical cool" (I did indeed notice the resemblance to myself in my younger days by this Hip-hop guy at the KPFA benefit, "Spear-Head" (or something like that, myself faintly amused at how I used to be called "Spearchucker" in High School) I told her, softly, because we were a lot kinder to one another in those "ancient" days, No Amy, c'mon, since when did you become a celebrity gawker... Just then, the "crowd goes wild!" Onto the stage struts a dude with that charismatic machismo of Our Man Bob [Dylan]...Amy gives me her "superior smile"... The jaunty, almost arrogant notes from the harp strapped around the neck beneath the dark fedora hat begin... Even the beginning vocals have got us all fooled, cheering in lemming-like feeding frenzy... Then the hat comes off and all this black beautiful hair falls free...It's Joan Baez, indeed the "mystery guest"... Years later, I still remember something about a coupla diehard fans insisting she continue on as "Bob, man" (and the look on her sweet face--just a trace of "what in the world" disturbing her angelic features...) All I can say, after seeing and hearing again last night, is "You're Aging Well" is too understated; her voice, having picked up a bit of a throaty roar (from timeworn cares, perhaps), went through me in complete melodic harmony on her solo, a beautiful spiritual about "peace and rest finally"...(Nobody else on the bill even came close to that talent...Too much a lost art, I'm afraid, she's just too accomplished a "perfectionist" in her art...Or something like that...) Gotta run, tom

From: rudra@kfogmail.com Save Address B lock Sender

To: yinglan@uclink4.berkeley.edu

CC: timonae@hotmail.com, rudra@kfogmail.com

Subject: Dear Ole Doo! Doo!

Date: Mon, 26 Jul 1999 14:38:56 - 0500 (CDT)

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My Dear Maxine, As requested, I will wrap ups some loose change/ends... Did not mean to set off the wrong reaction with the Dar Williams remark; what I intended was more along the lines of what I found in Alexandra David-Neel's memoirs of her travels to Tibet (the new preface by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, poor tired Tenzin Gyatso, conceding that the realm she describes "is lost forever"...) "The gods have won, the demons have been defeated!" is Ms. David- Neel's triumphant (and traditionally Tibetan) calling our from atop those "aloof," dazzlingly bright Himalayan peaks, the solitary guardians whose nature was perhaps too much depended upon to keep that spiritual tradition protected... Perhaps a remembering in my mind of How some "energies" are more "workable" than others, i.e., "It ain't all good like your Fed. Gov't. Secret Sorcerer's Cult has been attempting to ram down our throats as *obeisance..." Hence my oft-stated "with all due respect, I dissent" to these insanely *evil-per-se* and mist-takenly named "vajra lessons of compassion," with schmirkingly superior "edicts/fiats" issued--the most popular being this absurdly ignorant "have to be gay or gonsies!" (which I would wager--though not being a "gambling man," that even the youngest of the Heavenly bright Sunday School children at, say, the Newman Catholic Center, would be able to spot the "logical defect" quite easily, i.e., nobody here on this earthly existence can usurp the powers or authority of God in Heaven onto one's own being without being punished--as the Old Testament describes, in very specific detail still amazingly "relevant," as physical afflictions (weak-too*yin* watery weasel eyes, ferret-mouthed "vampire little teeth," a "crone's hump" in the top of one's spine from the use of *pharmaka* or poisons posing as "enlightenment channelers" that cause one to become "affective- schizo" and chemically-dependent upon these substances to hear, *psychically*, what God offers in a more pure--free of the "haunting echoes" as "hollow praise"-- and all-encompassing form)... Now, please remember How I came back around to my spirituality before "rushing to judgment"...(prior writings as reference...) Too, here, is a good point to make my "official statement" of "begging to differ" with that "person" allegedly my real father, one "C.P." of the McNenny clan, that--according to my best "information and belief,' a matter never confirmed despite my entering "Freedom of Information Act" requests into the federal record in a very polite manner: ATTENTION! To "Dear Old Dad" Wherever You May Be Hiding Out! I've sided with Mother, Mary Anne in "anything and everything" (sorry, I know that I used to stick up for you when "hearing" of some conflicts) NOW HEAR THIS!...You have "zero" permission to use any of mine own Intellectual Property-- especially but not limited to my chapbook of original poetry, "The Silence of Pauses"... Nor can you make use of "any or all" of my spiritual Tulku history and my hard-won spiritual realization(s) Plus my "morning briefing" comments are not to be used for political axe-grinding purposes... i.e., I ain't your god-damned "tool, schill or puppet," pal, as even Mr. R.M. Gates is "sick to death of you, pal..." Though I grew up, Scotch-Presbyterian, blessed as well with a foster "Gran," the devotedly Irish Catholic Camilla Tierney Noonan, and admittedly had the "advantages" of a "typically bourgeois" upbringing, I did indeed do the "Sixties rebellion" trip of long hair and "experimentation," in the process becoming cynical about "authority" (without knowing anything of my allegedly real parents or all those "other matters" that my insanely "greedy, hypocritical and Machievelianly clever" foster family, all posing as "concerned relatives," keep fighting over like a pack of junkyard dawgs")... Hence I find the "staged media events" of that Wendell Taylor/Ciro Mancusco "narc/informant" (a strange breed of cur having taken over the "service sector" of the Sierras/Yosemite tourism biz, in a "different but *exactamundo, baby!* the same" nasty style as Berkeley and the Bay Area's "nightlife"); i.e., the way that he's busted at a nudist colony/resort, hangs out by "the river," smokes pot and "is always talking to teenage girls") a wee bit troubling, to say the least, as I'm having enough difficulty "re-envisioning" D.H. Lawrence's "Lady Chatterley's Lover" in my novel-in-progress--***MIDI sounds of the worst of da military, Gomer Shit-Pyle, and "Suh-prize, suh-prize, suh-prize!"***--coincidentally named "Green River" (after the C.C.R. song, not the "mass murderer"...) And I did indeed call the KFOG switchboard (on Saturday) and leave a message about being invited into an all-Japanese karaoke bar by a very nice woman--to whom I showed all courtesy and respect while sitting at the bar and entreating them with not only my *not bad* "Bob Dylan" twang but too an "inimitable" Frank Sinatra and even "I'm So Lonesome I Could Die" (Merle Haggard)...My voice was deep, pure and clear, my diction perfect, my soul maybe a wee bit overpowering for them (at first)... And I thanked the D.J. for playing that Allman Brothers song with the soaring Dickie Betts riffs--explaining that the song was what the Allman Brothers opened with at what was called "Woodstock Two," the Watkins Glen "Summer Jam" of 1974.  I don't usually "revisit" the matter, not wishing to "live in the past like a fossil, always narcissistically obsessed with And Then *I* Did This, and Then That"...).  But, for some reason, I felt like explaining *further* the "Clear Light Bardo" deepening peace that I perceived on Ms. Joan Baez's Night...As I'm sure I've described elsewhere, the concert was a pivotal "turning point" in my life, the combination of "good people and great chemistry" causing what felt to me as a Great Opening of our chakras, in blossoming bliss that lifted as if winged, like Mr. Betts' most beauteous and sweet guitar work... As I've said before, a *precursor* to the Real Work of meditation, but one that's Not Bad...(Or, as I used to express with my dear sweet Elise Mallison and all her buxom, jitterbug sensuality, as we danced, spotlighted in all Dionysianly wildness,  the encore to our favorite house band, "The Choice," "What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love and Understanding..." "After telling the cameraman to leave him alone so he could sing and commenting that God must be disappointed with popular entertainment today, Mr. Costello hit the audience where it counted most--in its tender nihilistic gut--with a version of his "(What's So Funny 'bout) Peace Love and Understanding."<br> "The New York Times," Monday, July 26, 1999, A15, "The Spirit of Woodstock 99: Music Sex, TV and More TV" As I'm running out of time, I'll make the metaphorical point: though I can see through what the repressed *Senex Snitchocracy* and "all those dowdy fustilarians clunking about all over the god-damned ignorant of one's environment place" keep foisting upon us as Fed. Gov't color-of-law (the *real* conflict going on with the "KPFA brew-ha-ha, as a black dude on the stage benefit night pointed out--the station has always represented a "grassroots" type of policy and decision making, as opposed to the "Washington, D.C. Beltway-insider" invasions of "orders from the top" currently being done, cloaked by cries for "diversity!"). True,  I've been complaining of the matter for a decade now with little impact, having been *marginalized*, as finally happening to "others, toosies!"...But I swear, Benefit Night, I could not help but wonder "Why cannot these people see the "alchemically-twisted" gray lack of luster to those "tipped-head" C.P. "widdle boysies and girlsies!" (just like that young black punk and his snitch-buddies at Santa Rita last year in that Sister Mary and her lesbian cohorts clever little "set-up" of myself that we all knew was "fated" to happen, but could only pray that I'd be kept alive somehow-- one of "C.P.'s projects," who got "all da goodies" of "bitches and booty" right at Santa Rita, getting to make color-of-law pornos and everything before the drooling and caged prisoners ready to "do the same thang!")...Why can't they see the buffoonishly large buzz-head cut females, all clad in purple, taking photos of myself in the crowd (and others, in a very obvious fashion) as the "Lez-BeE-EYE!"... Hence, my indignation at being "slandered, libeled, I've been called words that ain't in the Bible" (the Paul Simon song...) and accused of "not getting it" or, even more sch-too-pidly, being "an IT" ( a matter getting tougher every day fading away from view to disprove, as Dear Old Daddie and his irrational "jealousy" of a most Freudian ill-nature has managed to color-of-law diss-Troy any woman with whom I've ever experienced any "tenderness" (beginning but not limited with my dear college sweetheart Ms. Amy Linn--as we were known, quite righteously, as "the perfect couple," a matter--given his priggish treatment of my Mother all her life, living "high off da hog" off her assets, treating as "the company whore," tossing her to his boyfriends like a bone to a bunch pit bulls and reveling in all da fighting--that must have tweaked him somehow...) So, now--given the ridiculous ease with which "cloaked and masked" Dear Old Dad can "fool everybody" about being so "p.c.!", turning up on daytime talk shows about "14-year old sluts" with his drug-addled leer behind those "Foster Grants," plundering as "what da Hell!" and then doing his "how could I have DONE such a thang!" groveling that he's taught all his "wanna-be-Sons-of-Swords"/clones (like ole "little Jonnie Reston the child molestor," everybody's favorite "overgrown lunkhead" of a Judas/hanged Fool--NOT *moi*, as "we all know by the actual facts, ma'am"...(so sorry Daddie, you're gonna have to "take the Luciferean Fall" for your neurotic "habit" of showing up to have me poisoned/sterilized at "any and all places to eat or drink" all these years, then retreating to your Tudor mansion in Virginian splendor to laugh about your "superiority" to your son, having to live without anything, no home--not even some tattered cloaks to cover my body, wearied by day after day of *hard work and no reward*, perhaps as my Celtic ancestors used to sleep, communal around a campfire--no love, no friends, no nothing, because of Dear Old Doo Doo! and your god-damned third-grade playground bully (albeit as a "physical coward" who relies on "po po action" through his clutched tightly cellular phone) dirty widdle invasions of my bodily privacy (with *enemas*, "he's full of shit, get it!", viruses, bizarrely offensive chemicals that turn ones fecal matter into toxic goo as they tear up your insides, real good--and all the yes bitches nod, Uh-hoo, Uh-hoo, Uh-hoo--I'm afraid I just Don't Have Much Left to Say... much love, don't sweat my "missing out!" of Squaw Valley, no big deal, tom P.S. I'm going to invite my "favorite Aunt" to Lama Kunga's picnic... Get your own free email! http://www.kfog.com