thank you, sarah, for my psychedelic memories

a couple of months ago, a good friend from gradeschool & highschool left a comment saying that she had found a copy of the psychedelic writings a small group of us used to self-publish.

the series was called "return to the coffeehouse".

if i remember correctly, there were four or five of us. stephanie, sarah, angie, myself, & perhaps carla? we would write train of consciousness bits in class & i would type them up on my grandfather's black & green screened computer, saving them to floppy disks - mortarboards, really, and printing them out in dot dot dot letters. how primitive! the pages would be secured in three prong folders. i think we even sold them to other students a few times.

this was the sixth or seventh grade. i had thought all of these were lost. i actually forgot about them in more recent years. however, sarah was kind enough to make a copy of them & mail them to me in hollywood. thank you for giving me a part of my childhood.

so, without further ado:

i am lost in the woods with elvis when this lady from church comes in and says, "spank your leprechaun monkey with french lapel and shiny shimmering sequins. then go to the highest mountain in india and meet princess jasmine and abu the monkey dressed in bell bottoms and in a halter top not once questioning your shoes." then praise and you shall be praised for your magnificent jeri-curl fro as you sing o canada to the beat of neatniks high on benadryl chanting the barbecue, the barbecue and eating catfish tails while stepping on smeckios. with your armpit hair a furl you climb outside and say, “long live john lennon and yoko ono alike.” then you pass out in a pile of cappio bottles.

you wake up with the smell of funny cigarettes stuck in your dreadlocked nosehair and you see hans christien andersen and the little mermaid singing a duet of "i got you babe". you shove a french fry vigorously up your nose and your body begins to vibrate to the beat of "jeremy". your eyes shine a beastial green and the barbecue sandwich in front of you stares at you with such magnetism that you turn away for the lust has devoured your senses. then the barbecue shrieks, “bite me!”

then you wake up and you realize it was only a ream and you are margaret thatcher in the land of claudehoppers and gondorrah. the crisp christmas eve bells ring and you look out the window and say, "i have seen the light of a continuous off the air channel running all night, and I know the cure of gorbachev’s yoplait yogurt stain. i met my spiritual animal cooney cow in the land of oz. dorothy did my hair up in pigtails and put eyeline freckles on my face. glenda the good withc said to meet princess jasmine and abu the monkey but not once did I question my shoes!" then you suffer a sever breakdown and you blurt, "cappio, smeckio, gondorrah, i see the answer now! i read the spit in the pond as the flying fish ferdinand ate it! i am the queen of el salvador, the land of cheese wiz! my prince is mrs. burke as she rubs her pot belly and says, "ho, ho, ho, green giant."

apparently, I have always had an active imagination.