When Nancy took me to the University of Oregon to hear her friend, Ken Kesey, read from Caverns, I told myself I would try to talk to Ken – this time – something I failed to do twice before, when Nancy got me On The Bus in the Eugene Celebration Parade, and, a backstage pass to the Dead Dylan concert at Autzen stadium. My childhood friend got me free tickets to the Country Fair, and she was there at my graduation from Serenity Lane. I wondered if Nancy was putting me on a collision course with Ken -and if he wanted what I had. I thought about sitting in on the Caverns class because it would be a leg up – but I was afraid Ken and I would get stoned and drunk together. I also did not want to appear as a Toady Kiss-ass – too!
With the finding of the articles by Tim Appelo, and Jeff Forester, I can assume I am Kesey’s heir apparent; because I believe he wanted to get sober – and save his life – like I did. I succeeded. Ken failed, and died. I believe he was told he would die if he kept drinking, because he was diabetic. I am diabetic. For almost a year I and my team of health experts have been waging a battle to get my blood sugar readings down. On July 22, I get to celebrate with Natalie, because I got my reading down to as low as it can go. We added years to my life. I do not need to imagine what Ken went through when he was told the truth (at the Mayo Clinic?) that he was doomed. Ken had lost his son, and could not write. His legacy – was in ruin! His liver was shot! Consider this post the appendage to Caverns written by….
‘The Writer Who Had To Stay Away’
Today, July 16, 2021, I introduce the Spirit of Ken, to Jack London, and John Barleycorn. With his DESIRE to quit drinking, Ken is a brother in AA. I doubt he went to an AA meeting – because that would have made the news. His celebrity status would have made it very difficult for him to be – a common drunk. Did he wonder if I could go through the steps with him – in private? This is the fate of my celebrity-sister, Christine, who was in love with Bill Arnold, as was Nancy. My sister lived with Nancy and I at the Idle Hands commune in San Francisco. They went on a double date with Nick Sands, and Stanley Augustus Owsley. Rosamond bonded with the Zorthian sisters. A movie script was written about her – and I am in it!
Jack London and his close friend George Sterling were the Founding Fathers of the Carmel Bohemian Community. Nine days ago I informed the owner of the Carmel Pine Cone, that their writer – altered the death of my late sister – and did not mention her first sober birthday. Today, Ken Kesey gets to help – right this INJUSTICE! Christine’s autobiography was disappeared. Did Ken envision what his sober novels would be about – and his autobiography with a miraculous and happy ending?
- an heir whose claim cannot be set aside by the birth of another heir.
- a person who is most likely to succeed to the place of another.” he was once considered heir apparent to the chairman”
Paul Miller <firstname.lastname@example.org>To:John AmbroseThu, Jul 8 at 3:09 PMIn that case, thank you for bringing it to my attention. There’s nothing I can do to change it, unfortunately. We will endeavor not to repeat the mistake, though.
Wed, Jul 7 at 10:06 AM
On July 3rd. I found an altered account of how my famous sister drowned in March of 94. My surviving sister is misquoted – from a previous story written by John Detro. I wonder what his motive was. I suspect your newspaper got allot of calls from disbelieving readers. Could you look into this matter. I would like a copy of the original story as I am missing the first page. I would like to see you personally go out to Rocky Point and film and photograph what you see – at high tide during strong winds – that were disappeared in in Detro’s story, and in the lying biography of Christine Rosamond Benton, by Tom Snyder. I have concluded my kin were fishing, and not looking in non-existent tide-pools – at high tide! As you know Pacific Grove has one of the best and safest places to bring children to look in tide-pools. My sister lived two miles away from that place. A party was planned, that was also disappeared.
President: Royal Rosamond Press
Four years ago I was at my favorite restaurant, telling my favorite waitress I would go to AA meetings with her, and be her sponsor. She was living in a halfway house, and was about to be evicted because she stayed out all night. When she walked away, I heard someone call my name. I turned and beheld Nancy and her husband, Jerry, who had built homes up river with Herold and my kin, Michael Dundon, who was a foreman for a logging outfit. Sometimes A Great Notion was reality to the Dundon family. Jim Dundon, married my younger sister, and together they built a geodesic dome on John’s property, as did Michael, who along with his wife, worked at John’s Log Cabin Inn. Michael is still in love with Christine. He got me into Serenity Lane where he worked there as a councilor. Our minister and Nancy were at my graduation from the New Hope Program. I was seeing the head of Serenity Lane one on one, after my First Step was halted by the councilor, because I talked about my experiences with LSD. A founder of AA recommended taking LSD. In my aftercare package were these instructions.
“Write! Write! Write!
In the slanderous book written about Christine Rosamond Benton, her ex-husband says I am responsible for the suicide of my best friend, Bill Arnold, who showed me the letters Nancy wrote him while he was in Juvenile Hall for a year in 1963. Bill had written a play when he was nineteen, and an editor came to see him in Ogden Utah, to personally hand him his first rejection letter. They conversed for an hour. I have been blocked about writing about Bill, who died on my 18th. birthday, until yesterday. Jeff Shaman wrote of the terrible dilemma that many of our brothers and sisters experience when they get sober. I am giving those this is applicable a chance to – to make amends – soon. Thank you Jeff Forester for your brave, rigorous, honesty, and, for saving your life. You have freed me. I took am a script writer authoring a James Bond book. One of my characters if a born-again hippie who gets blitzed at the Bum’s Rush cafe in Eugene – on one beer! Alcohol and Starfish – don’t mix!
Ken could have founded his own underground newspaper. I own two! I will leave one to Zane Kesey. Long live the Eugene Augur!
President: Royal Rosamond Press
The Eugene Augur was a local countercultural underground newspaper published in Eugene, Oregon, United States, from 1969 to 1974. Starting with its first issue dated October 14, 1969, the Augur, produced by a cooperative of left-wing political activists aligned with the antiwar movement, appeared twice a month, offering up a mix of New Left politics and acid rock counterculture to an audience of students, hippies, radicals and disaffected working class youth in the Eugene area. The paper’s coverage ranged from antiwar demonstrations, exposing local narcotics agents, and rock festivals, to the growth of backwoods communes in Southern Oregon and the annual Oregon Renaissance Faire. In August 1972, the paper cut publication to a monthly schedule. Staffers included Peter Jensen and Jim Redden, son of a prominent Oregon politician and later a reporter for the Portland Tribune.
“I began to write. In a moment of clarity, I saw Kesey’s trap. I saw the terrible conundrum of chemical enlightenment, saw how the myths we create to define us eventually hold us captive and demand ransom. Many friends resisted my lifestyle change, feeling that my sobriety was a judgment upon them. I couldn’t imagine how strongly Kesey felt this pressure. For him it was public. Rabid right-wingers had long attacked him and the 1960s, trying to marginalize his message. Would Kesey’s sobriety have handed them a victory?”
“When the fog cleared, Kesey held his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, his sky-blue eyes pooled with tears. My heart sank. “I feel like I’m dating Emily Bronte,” he said. “I just don’t care about novels anymore.” Even laughing gas could not take the edge off. Allison put her hand on his shoulder. I mumbled, “It’s cool. Don’t finish the damn book.” Kesey was silent for a long time. Tears fell down his cheeks and dropped to the floor, mingling with the winter rain from our coats. I turned off the tank. He sighed, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and said, “I’ll finish ‘Sailor Song.’ It’s like Faulkner says, sometimes the old dog has got to chase a bear just to keep calling himself a dog.”
By the second bottle of wine, Kesey said, “America is hard on writers. I call it the Hemingway complex. Who I am, my persona, stands behind my characters. It’s as though I’m holding a mask out in front of me and writing through the mask. Who you get is me behind the mask. You don’t get that from Shakespeare, or Mark Twain. I have no idea who Melville was, but Ahab will stalk around in my attic for the rest of my life, and that’s how it ought to be.” Kesey the messenger had become the message. When Hemingway the hunter became Hemingway the hunted, he slipped a shotgun into his mouth and tripped the trigger with his toe. Kerouac’s “Road” ended in his mother’s Florida ranch house, Kerouac’s magnificent youth bloated, unshaven, angry and sodden. McMurphy, the quixotic figure tilting his lance at “the combine” blurred with Kesey, the lance transformed into a Magic Bus. Allison and I arrived in northern Minnesota about a month later. We lived in a log building at the end of railroad grade abandoned a century before. Our truck rumbled over remnant tamarack ties as we crossed low spots driving deeper into forest that had grown up after the loggers left.”
The Second Coming of Martin Eden
“And all my austere nights of midnight oil, all the books I had read, all the wisdom I had gathered, went glimmering before the ape and tiger in me that crawled up from the abysm of my heredity, atavistic, competitive and brutal, lustful with strength and desire to outswine the swine.”
I avoided connecting with Jack London because my best friend Bill Arnold staked a claim to him, and so did my father, Vic Presco.I was assigned a lesser role by these two males that taght me all I know about narcsissm. Then, here comes my daughter into my life. She taught me – I know nothing! Heather Hanson, with the help of her family, has been trying to UNBORN me. Before she was born she was aimed at my Famous Sister who may have suffered from Narcissistic Personality Disorder – like I do! We both sought professional treatment, and became members of AA. Jack London might be – one of us! Most of the Presco family suffers from NPD.
When we met, I saw my father in my daughter. Heather Hanson has Victor’s nose, and, his look. This look is looking for admirers, and people….suckers who will come and adore them. There’s a coldness to Heather that the mother of Victoria Presco’s grandchildren, commented on. Victor and Heather love to manipulate people, get them to do what they do not want to do. It is their art.
At 10:32 A.M. I read parts of my autobiography. My Muse introduced me to my Weird, my twin, that I said I would meet on New Years Eve. John Barleycorn and I met in the Barbary Coast of San Francisco, and talked about the good ol days. John offered John three fingers of Whiskey, a hit of opium, and an hour with one of the whores that hung about Mr. Barleycorn who was famous for pissing away his money.
Before my daughter was kidnapped and taken across State Lines to meet my surviving sister, I took her and her mother to the library in Sonoma to look for books on ACOA’s….Adult Children of Alcoholics. I had become alarmed by the traits I saw in my daughter who had to appear perfect in everyway. I saw this was a façade, and, due to her genetics she was one step away from becoming a covert alcoholic – verses an overt alcoholic. The desire to own ‘The Cloak of Invisibility’ may be the best cocktail ever made.
With this cloak come ‘White Logic’. I did not know Heather’s aunt and uncle are alcoholic. I did not know Linda Comstock was ‘Queen of the Pleasure Boat Drunks’. When alas we met, she informed my sister and I she had procured rooms for us at the Ayre Casino. I told Heather Vicki and I had not had a drink in twenty years. THEY DID NOT CARE! Who are they?
My family and I had come into some money that was free and clear of the Rosamond Estate of which Heather and her family – got nothing! White Logic was – full steam ahead! THEY had a plan…..’Psucho Billy’s Bar and Grill’ is born. The greates literary struggle of ALL TIME is the stuggle I had to keep my daughter from going over to The White Side, and once she had, betrayed me in every way – to forgive her! I awoke this morning, sat at the edge of my bed, and threw in the towel. Then, I went to the Gideon Computer and found John. I also found Berkeley Bill Bolagard my fictional character based upon my alcoholic self who lived at the Moose Club. I drank at all the Downtown Oakland bars, but, avoided ‘The Las Chance Saloon’ because Bill and my father claimed this bar. My story begins at ‘The Golden West’ on twelfth street.
Ghost writer, Tom Snyder, was hired by Stacey Pierrot to author the ‘White Logic’ biography of the world famous artist, Christine Rosamond Presco-Benton. Tom tried to get me to contribute. I considered it because I wanted my book on my ‘Rose Line’ to hit the market, first, because I communicated with other authors who had come out with their hit on the ideas put forth by Baigent and Leigh. I have exchanged e-mails with Margaret Starbird, whom my fictional character, Miriam Starfish Christling, is partially based upon.
Tom and I made a verbal agreement that he would not write about Christine’s alcoholism, because it is a family disease that is handed down from one generation to the next. Because Tom was not an alcoholic, and did not attend a Twelve Step program, he could not offer a Divine Intervention and a Blessed Resolve, that millions of Alcoholics in Recovery have enjoyed, will enjoy – hopefully for a thousand years to come.
When my daughter was kidnapped, and went to see Vicki and her son, Shamus Dundon, Snyder to the go ahead to write about the family disease from Vickie. Since her death, my niece Shannon Rosamond Benton has seen evidence Vickie betrayed her, and me, which adds up to the horrible truth she betrayed her niece, and sabotaged Heather and my MIRACLE.
In place of this miracle, a utterly evil and wicked labyrinth was constructed with the help of the executor, Sydney Morris, of the law firm of Buck. Vickie had dropped out as Christine’s No.1 named Executor, nominated Garth Benton, then worked behind the scenes with Robin Beare – Garth’s Divorce Attorney – to control all aspects of the Literary and Artistic Legacy of one of the highest paid Woman Artist in the history of Art. White Logic is practice here, in the dark, in a covert manner, the likes the true World of Literature and Art has ever seen. Jack London, and his two alter-egos, would be – impressed!
Since July of 2001 I have struggle to get my daughter back in my life. We have been seperated three times. The last time was eight years ago. No one has taken glee in the destruction of Our Miracle, than Shamus Dundon, who told several lies about how my sister drowned at Rocky Point. He and Vickie took my daughter – HOSTAGE! If I wanted to see her again I had better stop asking good question – about how Rosamond ended up in the ocean – the thing she feared the most. Vicki said in the Carmel Pinecone they shared their nightmares of Big Waves taking their lives.
Above is a image of my dear friend, Nancy Van Brasch-Hamren. Her and Bill Arnold were lovers when they were thirteen. She knows all about Bill’s infatuation with Jack London. We used to play at being Bohemians. I was George Sterling. When Heather came up to Eugene on the train, Nancy took us to dinner. I wanted Heather to meet the real deal.
The imposter that passed for me, served time in San Quinton for impersonating Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead. Nancy lived with Mountain Girl’s brother in the Kesey farm. She worked for over thirty years at the Kesey Dairy in Springfield where I came to visit her in the summer of 1986. We lived in a hippies commune. Christine lived with us for a few years along with the Zorthian sisters who father was a Last Bohemian. Nancy suggested I write the history of the Hippies because I could recall so much. I know %99 more thanks to my devotion to my blog-newspaper, Royal Rosamond Presco. A year later I entered the New Hope Program at Serentity Lane. At my graduation I read from The Gideon Computer’ that I got sober in order to complete. It is still un-finished. Nancy put me on course to meet, and know her good friend, Ken Kesey who some claim died of liver failure due to alcoholism.
Jack London died of liver failure and a overdose of morphine to stop the pain. I believe Nancy wanted me to do an intervention – after I became friends with Ken – who would them confide in me. That did not happen. I was afraid he – as John Barleycorn – would try to drink me under the table, in an outbreak of White Logic that take so many lives.
Two days ago I began a proposal to Meg Whitman who owns Quibi. I want Steven Spielberg to produce ‘The Second Comping of Martin Eden’.
With the appearance of John Barleycorn, I am launching a public campaign to get my daughter back, and have Heather untie with her two cousins to form a and amazing Sober Literary and Artistic Legacy that will inspire many, to write, to render works of art, to get clean and sober, and combat the Family Disease of Drug and Alcohol Abuse. I want Alcohol Justice to bring a lawsuit against the law firm of Buck, Morris, who helped set up the Buck Foundation. This law firm rubberstamped the most cunning and baffling Anti-Sobriety Cult in the annals of history. Morris gave permission to Stacey Pierrot to produce a book, and a screenplay about Christine, whose autobiography was disappeared. Vickie Presco showed me the copy she made when she stayed in Christine’s house after the funeral. This house should have been sealed – by Vickie! Here are the co-defendants:
Shamus Dundon, who has not sent me the painting I gave to his mother, as promised. My nephew asked what I want – eleven days after Vickie died. He was not going to tell me. His son, who reads this blog, insisted. Vickie did not fulfill what the Morris ordered. Vicki did not do what our father asked in the Trust he made out. I told Shamus I want Christine’s autobiography, and…
“I want the truth of what happened at Rocky Point!”
I want Stacey Pierrot in a court of law, as well as Drew Benton, for everything was being done for Drew, while Shannon was placed under arrest. Drew does contribute to Snyder’s book, but, refused to talk about how Christine was “killed by a rogue wave” that is now a huge part of London Lore. It’s time Drew gave an account in a court of law.
My motive is to save lives. I never saw a dime from Christine’s Art, or her Death. I suggest my daughter, all by herself, whose side she is on. Of course I want her on my side. Yes I want Christine’s daughter to emerge from the Dank Cell of Lies they were put in. I want to be the True Caretaker of these three women’s Creative Legacy. I will not live forever.
Heather Hanson. Shannon Rosamond, and Drew Benton. These are the Hiers of two creative siblings who rose above the White Logic Swine and performed miracles. Christine was going to have her first sober birthday at Rocky Point.
Stephen Spielberg made a fine movie ‘Sophie’s Choice’. He has championed the plight of Jews – especially the children. Everyone deserves a family, even the serial killer on death row. There is much evidence – I have yet to have a family. Heather was my best – and last chance. I begged her and her mother to stay away from my family. That translated into I being a very cunning and selfish bastard who wants to make sure my daughter – never sees a dime! And, the S.S. White Logic was launched against me, in all its might, to destroy me, and make sure I take my next drink.
Come April 7th. I will have thirty-three years sobriety! You wantch ya miracle! I gotcha miracle rights here!
I met Patrice Hanson at the Kerry House one of Captain Victim’s favorite bars. Pops took me there after we had been drinking there most of the day. Come 2:00 A.M. the bar closed – for everyone but my father and I. He was impressed I could hold my liquor. He was still trying to drink me under the table. Come the crack of dawn, Captain Larsen was three-sheets the wind. He was using his old material on me, while I am talking about my crazy hippies ways and the time I took the Mafia to court and won! That’s when everything changed between us, for the better, for I was his peer now, and the Captain treated me with respect. As his child, I never got such a thing.
A few years later we are drunking at the Lafayette house. I own two years of sobriety. I show Captain Larsen my manuscript ‘The Gideon Computer’. He says he will read it later. We are down in The Presco Foxhole talking about the smeall of burnt bodies at Iwo Jima. Spotting THE ENEMY, he takes aim at my manuscript, and lets go a goodly splash of Scocth! It’s a direct hit! Did I tll you Captian Victim had a glass eye, and wore a black patch for a year. Dee-Dee knocked it out with a four pound ashtray.
“Well. I’m done! I’ve had my fill of Iwa Jima! Vic watched me pick up my science fiction novel. and walk out the door.
Years go by, and I am back for more punishment. to my surprise, Vic is sober. H had diabetes and is in love. He wants – to live! I ask him why he raised his two sons so – cruelly?
He told me he had not role model growing up due to his father deserting him. Thus he used Wolf Larsen as a model. This is almost the truth. Finding John Barelycorn, I now own the truth, which is………..?
My father was a Jack London Freak. He was his No.1 Fan. He modeled his life after London’s characters. My father was……..A Literary Lunatic!
Above is a photo of my favorite bar in Oakland ‘The Hut’. I almost got shot here. I was talking to some young punk who claimed his father was the Mafia, and, so was he. He tried to muscle me, impress me as we sat at a table. I told him he was full of shit. I asked him what big crimes his family are committing in the bay area. He told me they sell cocaine. I laughed in his face.“Anybody can sell cocaine in Oakland. Even high school drop outs. Who needs the mob, who traditionally look down on drug dealers.”
I told him my mother made porno movies for Big Bone’s Remmer who came to my house with his wife. Suddenly thus black dude I don’t like has come up behind me, and I hear the click of gun – that has misfired! This guy shot my fiend here two months earlier. He was at the bar when he was shot in the arm. He told me the last thing he remembers is a smoke-ring coming at him. Again I hear a click, and study the face of the alleged Mafia man. He is – blown away! I start laughing at him.
“Looks like your bodyguard needs a new gun. Or, you need a new bodyguard.”
I got up, and walked out. On the street, my legs began to shake. This was the second time someone put a gun to the back of my head, pulled the trigger, and the gun jammed.
Above is a photo of the University Hotel and the laundry mat I almost died in. I was drinking and doing my laundry. There was a bunch of street waifs there who I bought hamburgers for. I am talking with this young runaway, when this guy comes up to me and orders me to stop talking to her.
“No one tells me what to do!”
And out comes this big ugly gun that is in my face.
“I’m going to blow your fucking head off!”
The young folks hug the walls! I study this bad-ass dude that repeats his threat, and say;
“I believe you are going to blow my head off. But, you are such a lousy shot you might shoot an innocent bystander. Let’s go in the back ally and you can blow my head off there. Besides, you dont want any witnesses.
“Good idea. Let’s go!”
Now, I’ve had a lot of good ideas in my life, and have been in a rage because most of them have been rejected. In the ally, I fall to my knees with arms outstretched, and say “Baba”. I am in the light. He pulls the trigger. The gun is jammed. He tries again. I get up, and walk away.
A week later I see him on the street, and he’s screaming his tired used-up old threat at me;
“Yeah! Yeah! Promises! Promises!”
When I had a falling out with my daughter, she bragged about her boyfriend having a thousand friends. She said I was “so perfect”. She bragged about Bill having a manufactured bar in their house. Big deal. I and my friends took over three bars in my hood, the last one was the Hut. After living on Beacon Hill and drinking in bars in walking distance of my abode (one of them Cheers) I made a rule to take my business to the bar nearest to me. That was The Canteen, and old man’s bar.
In no time me and my friends moved the old men out. The Canteen became the wildest bar in the Bay Area. It had to be shut down. We moved to the Piedmont Lounge up the street, where the old war heroes retreated. We moved them out, and they went to The Hut. We closed the Lounge due to free for all fights where beer mugs were busted over folks heads. Then, my buddies and I headed for The Hut. I founded three great bars in Oakland. At the Hut this guy tells me;
“When you are not here, this place is a real drag!”
Between the Canteen and the Lounge is the Kerry House where I met my daughter’s mother – who claims she was married to the Mob. I drank here with my father – till dawn. When the bar closed, it never closed for Vic, who drove a big pink Caddy and wore garish plaid dresscoats. Vic never went to rehab. I mean, what would he share at a meeting?
“You all are trophy drinkers, I on the other hand, am the embodiment of Emperor Caligula!”
The real big deal in law enforcement was Frank Coakley (the real Hallahan) whose daughter adopted the Presco children. The Coakly family owned much real estate around Lake Merrit. There was a huge oil painting of this lake where Jack London sailed boats on Kay Coakley’s wall. Kay saw the same angel my sister’s saw. When I got sober, I began my autobiography ‘Bonds With Angels’.For surely there was an angel looking over us, because we were forced to bond with real devils!
My bodyguard was an Imperial Marine, Dietrich’s personal bodyguard, who ran away from Synanon who had moved into Oakland’s old athletic builiding. Two of my friends were members of the SLA, and were quationed by the FBI about the kidnapping of Patty Hurst. I have seen more gunplay then most Marines. I am retired from the World of Imperial Bullshit!
- An estimated 88,0005 people (approximately 62,000 men and 26,000 women5) die from alcohol-related causes annually, making alcohol the third leading preventable cause of death in the United States. The first is tobacco, and the second is poor diet and physical inactivity.6
- In 2014, alcohol-impaired driving fatalities accounted for 9,967 deaths (31 percent of overall driving fatalities).7
At the beginning of the book, Jack London gives a quick tease of “White Logic,” mentioning the “white light of alcohol” and how alcohol presented to his mind the concept of White Logic. It is only until the final five chapters that the nihilism of White Logic is finally revealed and pitted against the “lesser truth” that “makes life possible to persist.
There are, broadly speaking, two types of drinkers. There is the man whom we all know, stupid, unimaginative, whose brain is bitten numbly by numb maggots; who walks generously with wide-spread, tentative legs, falls frequently in the gutter, and who sees, in the extremity of his ecstasy, blue mice and pink elephants. He is the type that gives rise to the jokes in the funny papers.
This is contrasted to drinkers such as the narrator, who are possessed of imagination and become drunk more in brain than in body. To them, John Barleycorn sends clear visions of the eventual pointlessness of life and love and struggle.