Yesterday, Donald T. Gangster, tried to turn our Democracy into his Sitcom Reality Show.
When Ken Kesey threw his first Acid Tests, the star of the show was SUPPOSED to be LSD. In no time we had Acid Rock Stars!
“Let’s drop acid and go hear Big Brother and the Holding Company!”
Here was the original idea. This is the Genesis of Hippie Acid Rock as proposed by BEAF and the Open Theatre. This led to the making of ‘Animal House’ and ‘Inherent Vice’.
“I also borrowed a white noise machine, which was supposed to help you meditate and get into other brain wave patterns. We also had taped layers of music, playing simultaneously, and added voice readings from the Book of Revelations from the Bible. It was a multimedia event. We called it “Revelations.”
Captain Donald bragged his base would riot if he was impeached. He is playing tunes to his crazy evangelicals who read Revelations around the clock, and – are Rapture Ready! The Rapture Folks want Trump to end the world, bring on Revelations, and the End Times. What we got going is The End Time sitcom – with white noise in the background.
“Lock her up!”
Yesterday I composed the check I am going to write and send to Paul Fauerso, paying him back the food I stole from the pantry on 13th. where I lived as the Artist in Residence. My patron was Bob Hamilton, and Tim Scully. They bought me canvases and colors, but, no food. Paul complained more then he wanted to. There were other parasites up in the attic rooms. We crept down at night. Paul evicted me from my studio and bedroom located next to the sound room. Very late at night members of famous Acid Rock Groups would find me, at my easel, take a seat, and watch me paint.
What I discovered yesterday, was Paul makes commercials for TM and the Maharishi. After cleaning up his act, and ridding 13th. Street of rats, Paul became a pusher of a religious fake, who may not believe in Revelations. Trump pretends to be a believer. All the evangelicals know it. But, he is their ringmaster! Donald is their Bill Graham!
Here’s my idea for a sitcom. I have been checking dead authors in the Oaks Motel in Oakland. David Seidler and Thomas Pynchon check in, and team up to write the Last Great American Novel, because Godzilla is on a rampage and can’t be stopped. After stomping the shit out of the East Coast, he swam thru the Panama Canal, and is now leveling San Francisco. A groups of World Humanist have commissioned these two friends to write the great Secular Novel, because, the Evangelicals are rooting for Godzilla – big time! Perhaps another great book besides the Bible, will change the course of humanity.
There are only two channels on T.V. One airs all the Godzilla movies ever made for those who can’t face reality, and want a happy non-evangelical ending where Godzilla is fictionally defeated – for the time being! The other channel shows ‘What’s Up Hippie Mother Fucker’ which is judged to be the funniest movie ever made. Woodie Allen took the worst movie ever made ‘Inherent Vice’ based on a Thomas Pynchon book, and dubbed over like he did in his movie ‘What’s Up Tiger Lily?’
Tom and David take a walk into the Oakland Hills to watch Godzilla kick the shit out of San Francisco. Sitting on a grassy knoll, they are joined by the ten ghosts of the greatest authors that ever lived in the last sixty years. This is The Last Lost Generation. Do they really have something deeply profound to say, or, are they going to yuk it up as Godzilla swims the bay, and works over Oakland?
I’m going to hold a contest where folks watch Pynchon’s Phlop, and write the overlaying dialogue. This will be the first movie written by the Mass Mind. Turn down the Vice trailer and hear what pops into your mind. Try smoking a dooby, or, two. I got the ball rolling.
“Hey, are you thinking “munchies” too? Why don’t you go across the street to the cop-shop. They got vending machines. I would go, but, I’m too freaked out about my father’s arrest. Perhaps I shouldn’t have written that letter to ‘Incest’ magazine.”
“You know they’re going to rough me up. They think it was me who broke off toothepicks in their locks after they towed my beater for no smog device. My trail of smoke was not that bad. It’s a fifteen minute walk to the Seven Eleven. That’s a full half hour out of my life. I wish you’d cleared it with me. Your pops was about to buy you a new car.”
“So, now everything my fault! I’m glad our long game of blackmail is over. You’re the one that came up with the Guilt Trip, angle. It goes much deeper than me. He was dealing in sex trafficking with teenage girls! Why don’t we join your brother biker gang, and make money selling drugs?”
“You know I’m against white power. I’m strictly as THC man! If there was a reward, I’d turn my brother in.”
“Why don’t you talk to that detective? Maybe you can talk him into putting a bounty on your brother. We’re running out of money. I’m tired of macaroni and cheese. Please, go get me a Kit Kat bar.”
“O.K. my huggy-bunny babe. But, while I’m away, don’t call my mother. I know it was her that talked you into writing that letter. I know she’s got you hooked on our family stories. All that shit she is saying about me – is not true! ”
“Hey, you got my favorite movie on. Hurry back. I don’t want to be alone when they discover the Monster of the Id.”
Seidler’s career commenced with writing dubbing scripts for Godzilla The Monster movies.
When a forlorn young woman in Thomas Pynchon’s “Vineland” wished that life could be like a sitcom, with a wisecrack for every occasion and all of its problems wrapped up in 30 minutes–cut to final commercial–she didn’t know how accommodating the television industry would eventually be.
These days, anyone can take a Voyager-length trip through the empyrean reaches of sitcom syndication, with orbital laugh tracks beaming out from “I Love Lucy,” “Gilligan’s Island,” “Family Ties,” “Cheers” and “Empty Nest,” among numerous others, and never touch down in a world that isn’t swaddled in yuks (and we haven’t even veered into cable).
Throughout the novel, Pynchon’s technique is recognizable. From a cameo of Mucho Maas (from The Crying of Lot 49) to a bizarre episode hinting at Godzilla, Pynchon’s “zaniness” pervades the novel. For example, Pynchon laces the book with Star Trek references. He has his characters watch a sitcom named Say, Jim, about a starship all of whose officers “were black except for the Communications Officer, a freckled white redhead named Lieutenant O’Hara.” The numerous references to films rigorously include the year of release in a manner unusual for a work of fiction. Several characters are Thanatoids, victims of a particular karmic imbalance.
The Open Theater in Berkeley is most famous for debuting Big Brother and The Holding Company, and for being one of the incubators of the Trips Festival, which we have covered elsewhere. Indeed, another blogger discovered a listing in the Oakland Tribune Theater section that listed one of (if not the) first advertisements for “Psychedelic Music” at the Open Theater. Following the lead of this blogger, I reviewed the Theater Sections of The Oakland Tribune for 1965 and 1966, and managed to piece together the brief, but interesting history of the organization. I apologize in advance for any serious Theater scholars who have stumbled across this, as my focus is more on the musical side of the venture.
Psychedelic Filmmaker, Ben Van Meter, is accused on the Village Voice of being on a – ego trip! Huh? I love seeing that world I took part in through the eyes of a fellow artist. We exist in real life, and not up on that Music Stage that keeps cranking out musical notes like bubbles in hope the players can get lucky and strike it rich.
Two days ago Peter Shapiro called me. We talked about the time he put on a happening in the backyard on Miles. He and Tim O’Connor wanted to celebrate my marriage to Mary Ann Tharaldsen. Peter invited Swami X to bless us, even conduct a second Hippie Wedding, but, he was a no-show.
Instead we got our Jewish neighbor, who we placed on a platform in between the Japanese arch I built in the center of an octagonal garden.
Peter told all his friends to bring a loaf of cheap whitebread as an offering to the Swami. Many brought flowers and placed them around Swami Swartz who did a great job doing a Swami-Rabbi with Vaudville Jesus routine. When we lined up to get our share of the loaves and a blessing, Swami Swartz bid us to kneel, hold out our hand, and then slap five pieces of Wonderbread into our palms.
In the background we had five beautiful young women doing Tai Chi in their white outfits. Their shadows were cast upon the doors of the old garage while multicolor dots of wonder opened new levels of wedded bliss and awareness.