On the cusp of the 60s and 70s, 68 went down as the year of cultural revolution. Psychedelic shirts with LSD phosphorescent eyes. I know. Saw the living colors myself Walls inhaled and exhaled scents of patchouli and cheap strawberry incense from India. Saw those grimacing faces above the long-haired crowd twisting hideous. I was the youth then. "Down with the establishment" was the chant. Government? What a downer. What a bummer. "drags" were for "squares." The institutional church reeked as did the communist cult not into being reduced to a number for a system of power claiming my own good more into getting naked rather than getting put in a straight jacket Politics proved to be only good for starting wars. I met Pisces Tom partying in Coyote Canyon near Joshua Tree. a genuine Haight-Ashbury hippy who went off the grid to live in a bamboo forest smack dab in the middle of the Mojave desert. Tom raised a hog painted eerie space mandalas and made LSD from soaking marigold seeds. When he was tripping thought he could pan gold from the desert sands of ancient seas. Some of Tom rubbed off on me. How different today dancing to the establishment's dirge while pretending not to be.
Where Is the Counterculture?