My favorite author is Kurt Vonnegut. His book ‘The Breakfast of Champions’ altered my mind. For two years this blog has been advertising the greatest Art Happening of All Time, the second Mid City Arts Festival. Pynchon is invited because he is my favorite – living writer. We share the same muse. I am coming in disguise. I might be Kilgore Trout, or, Mr. Rosewater. The Bundy Bunch went on trial a week ago.
Greg Presco: Finding herself stuck between two droll and dusty bookends, two avant guard writers who expect at least one avant absurd poem from her, Lucia finds her breakout moment when she meets Antonin Artaud at the Moulin Rouge. Back at his garret they do mescaline together, in the form of Peyote buds Antonin has brought back from his trip to the States where he witnessed the Ghost Dance. Teaching her some of the moves, Lucia goes into a trance and into the future. In her vision quest she finds herself on the dance floor of the Fillmore West gyrating to the Grateful Dead. The first Dead Head is born!”
You just read a truly psychedelic blog where Kurt Vonnegut was drafted into the Acid Army in order to take over the world and the universe, and, he barely got out of that board meeting with his life, so thick was the marijuana smoke.
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