Saturday, June 2, 2012

Lonely Frisco for me  then--which  would  buzz a few years  later when my soul got stranger.  Now I was only a youth on a  mountain.  I stooped, looked  down between my legs,  and watched the world upside down.  The  brown  hills led  off towards Nevada; to  the South  was my legendary Hollywood;  to the North the mysterious Shasta country.  Down  below was everything; the barracks where we stole our tiny box of condiments, when  Dostioffski's tiny face had glared  at us, where  Henry had me hide the toy gun and where our squeaking yells had  transpired.  I spun around till I was dizzy; I thought I'd  fall down as in a  dream, clear off the precipice.   "Oh where is the girl I  love?"

I  thought, and looked everywhere,  as I had looked everywhere in the little world below.

And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhere far across gloomy crazy New York was throwing up  its cloud of dust and brown steam.  There is something brown and holy  about the  East; and California is white like washlines  and  empty souled --at least thats what I thought then.  I'd learn better later.  Now it was time  to pursue my moon along.

In the morning  Henri and Diane were asleep as I quietly packed and slipped out the  window the same way I'd come in, and left Marin City with my canvas bag.  And I never spent that night on the old ghostship and Henri and I were lost.

                                 jack's scroll -1949

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