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Friday, November 24, 2006
Pope Flores & Rev. Del Close
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There is a key to the first 56 posts here: http://subgeniusslack.blogdrive.com/archive/57.html
POPE MICHAEL FLORES AND THE REVEREND DEL CLOSE:
THE QUEST FOR SLACK!
This blog can be subscribed to for updates by entering your email address in the register box off to the side and clicking on register. This blog continues by scrolling down to the last post on the page and clicking on NEXT in the right hand corner.
For 10 years my comedy partner and I rocked Chicago nightclubs, art galleries, bars and theatre in a never before told tale. There are so many rumors about what we did, what I did, what he did and what happened I decided to do an uncensored, warts and all telling of our time together.
Oddly, all accounts of Del simply leave these 10 plus years out of the story.
Cheers,
The Pope of Chicago
Pope Mike Flores and Rev. Del Close: The Quest For Slack is © 2006, 2007, 2008 By Michael V. Flores
Casanova 2020 is © 2006, 2007, 2008 By Michael V. Flores
All art, lyrics copyright by the respective artists and used until they ask me not to.
Posted at 04:49 pm by Psychomike
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Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The Quest For Slack Begins
It is ok to link to this site. You should sign up for updates in the REGISTER box to the side. All contents (c) 2006 by Michael V. Flores
PROLOGUE
1979 and I'm looking at one of the hottest girls I've ever seen at NEO.
I'm not the only one that notices. She is alone. One by one every single guy goes up to ask her to dance. She turns them all down.
Which makes me very, very hot.
NEO is a punk rock club that looks more like a nightclub than a punk rock bar. But the music is everything I like but can't hear on my radio. The Clash. Patti Smith. The Ramones. I noticed her dress was label, her hair was done and her nails had been manicured. I immediately knew why she was turning the guys down. This was not a punk rock girl. I took a swig of my gin and tonic and walked over to her.
"Hi", says I.
She turns and smiles and says hi right back.
"You know, its really easy to dance to punk rock. I can show you how", I said eyeing her neckline and smooth soft skin.
"Wow", she says to me, " that would be great!" and with that we walked to the dance floor as the Ramones started to blast through the speakers.
I start jumping up and down. She starts.
"What's this called?", she says to me.
THE POGO!
We dance through a medley of Ramones songs. The DJ spinning would go on to have a fling with David Bowie, who would write the song I AM THE DJ for her.
The Ramones end, we go up for a drink, and every guy in the place is sitting staring at me! They are not nice stares either.
We drink and we talk. After graduating from the Art Institute I taught 20th Century art history and film history. That lasted 2 years and now I was in the apprentice union for film editing cutting Don Meier's WILD KINGDOM. We talked and she offered to take me to a bar I hadn't heard of before. It was called Steve's Blues Brothers bar. I said I was running out of dough and would have to call it quits, she laughed and told me her limo was waiting, and they never charged her for drinks.
A limo!
She told me the story of the club.
Chicago is a big city with a small Midwestern town feeling. Girls wear tops with spaghetti straps - but wear visible bras under them. (Try that in LA, Vegas, London, Berlin and people laugh at you). The Blues Brothers film shoot drew hundreds of people who would just stand around and watch. ( In any other city people would have been pissed a film shoot was blocking the roads!).
So the filmmakers asked Mayor Byrne for a place they could go to after hours where they wouldn't get stared at.
The bar had no license. No tax stamps. It didn't open until after 10 most nights and stayed open until the last people left! We drove down Wells Street in the limo and she whipped out a baggie that looked like it had a half ounce of coke. We did a few McDonald's spoonfuls each and came to a stop across from the Second City on Wells Street.
I had no idea at the time, but I was just feet away from where Del lived.
We walked down an alley to a house. I had walked by there a hundred times and never even knew there were houses behind the buildings on Wells Street.
There was Steve, seemed like a nice guy, opened the door for us like he had done it for Patti a thousand times.
We walked in at the tables and chairs area you entered into, just south was the bar.
There was John Belushi. Sweating. On either side of him was a stunning babe. I later found out they were from the Playboy Club on Armitage. In front of him was a dinner plate covered in a pile of cocaine. He pressed his face into it and sat up. His face was covered with the white powder.
The two girls licked it off him!
I decided right then and there, this was the best bar in Chicago.
He greeted Patti like she was an old friend. And offered us both lines.
Patti whispered to me that this was a slow night, wait until the cast and crew had ended a 14 hour shooting day and were ready to party!
This is a slow night? You must be joking! I thought to myself.
After a couple of drinks, Patti asked me if she could crash at my place.
So far, tonight was magic.....
Posted at 02:05 pm by Psychomike
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Saturday, December 02, 2006
A Southern Boy Comes North
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down
Virgil Caine is the name and I served on the Danville train
'Til Stoneman's cavalry came and tore up the tracks again
In the winter of '65, we were hungry, just barely alive
By May the tenth, Richmond had fell, it's a time I remember oh so well
The night they drove Old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove Old Dixie down and the people were singin', they went
La-la-la la-la-la, la-la-la la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Back with my wife in Tennessee, when one day she called to me
"Virgil, quick, come see, there goes Robert E. Lee!"
Now I don't mind choppin' wood, and I don't care if the money's no good
Ya take what ya need and ya leave the rest
But they should never have taken the very best
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and all the people were singin', they went
Na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na-na
Like my father before me, I will work the land
And like my brother before me, who took a rebel stand
He was just eighteen, proud and brave
But a Yankee laid him in his grave
I swear by the mud below my feet
You can't raise a Caine back up when he's in defeat
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and all the people were singin', they went
Na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na-na
The night they drove old Dixie down and all the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and the people were singin', they went
Na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na na-na-na, na-na-na-na
CHAPTER 1: A SOUTHERN BOY COMES TO CHICAGO
was digging through the box and flyers that lay beside me. Then I heard the gun cock.
"Do you think I have the guts to pull the trigger?", he taunted me.
I knew from my schooling in military school to keep my mouth shut. If I said yes he could say "Damn straight!" and then shoot me. If I said no, he could tell me I was wrong and blow my brains all over the concrete.
How did I get here?
In Atlanta ROTC was mandatory for high school graduation, and I had led a sit-in at Grady High School to make it elective. When I realized that 1200 of the 1500 student body had filled the first floor hall and we couldn't sit anywhere I announced we would take our petitions to the Principal and then go back to homeroom. As we gathered together, the police entered the building in full riot gear. As we walked towards them I told the group to stand fast. I walked ahead with the petitions. That's when a policeman charged me, punching me in the face and I went down, out.
When I came to I was in the principal's office and the sounds of sirens and yelling were everywhere. Police cars had been turned over and were ablaze. Kids were fighting police in the halls and on the school grounds. No one knew what to do with me. I hadn't actually broken any law, our sit-in was before homeroom so I hadn't disrupted classes. I didn't live at home, had moved away at 12 1/2 and never went back. While police argued about what to do with me I looked out the window to see a police truck on fire.
I had a duplex house (that's a house split in half) with three floors and the rent for myself and two hippie friends was $90 a month. I didn't have to sell too many copies of the GREAT SPECKLED BIRD to get that much money The diggers http://www.diggers.org/top_entry.htm who were the 1950's hippies provided daily free meals, pot was $15 a Prince Albert can and had no stems or seeds, Boone's Farm wine was a buck a bottle, tax included.
I could be a hippie and not go home because it was cheap and Atlanta had a huge hippie base that actually outlasted the scenes all over the country.
Until crystal meth showed up.
I'm sure my parents thought I would be back home in days. They had no way of knowing that a support group of middle and upper class drop outs could provide a support system. Plus when I left, I lied about my age. Claiming to be 17. Somehow it worked.
Hippies congregated in poor areas in cities because no one in those days would rent to people of the opposite sex that weren't married. These areas were generally also protected by the police.
The poor areas weren't.
The white ghetto was known as Cabbage Town, from the smell of cabbage and corned beef the Irish would cook. You knew you were entering the black ghetto because the sidewalk and streets ended. The roads were dirt. I became political because of an incident that occured in Summerville.
A teen named Andre Moore had seen a mute friend of his being shaken by 2 police officers who were demanding he talk. Andre yelled at them that he couldn't talk, and the police started hitting the mute kid. Andre threw a rock at them yelling for them to stop, and the police ran after him.
He was shot to death in front of his mother, on the lawn of their house.
The judge in the case cleared the cops, on the condition they sign up for the military and go to Nam. In those days southern Democratic judges would often offer this deal to criminals.
When I heard the verdict, I cried. I don't know why. But it hit me hard. The next day I was at the Great Speckled Bird offering to write.
Whew. Even now remembering this brings tears to my eyes.
So I'm laying on the sidewalk in Chicago and this cop is reading to me from a flyer about our protest planned for the Federal Building. He rises, uncocks his gun and calmly walks away.
I begin to shake.
Posted at 10:39 am by Psychomike
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Sunday, December 03, 2006
Wet and cold Del tried to get a grip on the wall. He tried to pull himself up but the water was slippery on the marble. Someone next to him was bleeding, but he couldn't tell if it was a guy or girl. My glasses. Where are they? A sudden burst of water pushed the bleeding body down the hall out of view. Stop it! Del clung to the wall unable to see anything around him. How did he get here? STOP IT he yelled into the void.
STOP IT as his dad sat before him drinking his death for his son to see. Discovering it wasn't an instant death but a torturous, agonizing death no phone nothing nearby but Kansas wide open Kansas where a man's thoughts can be the gateway to dreams or the last sounds he hears when he goes insane. Kansas. Compared to the science fiction novels he loved Kansas was dead but now it was death itself.
So he runs away. To run away from death. A violent death. To join the carny. He learned the special language they used http://www.goodmagic.com/carny/ and became a carny guy. He had a voice, deep and rich when he wanted to so they made him a huckster. So off he went as a kid to live with a support group who were on the run. When you go back and look at death records of circus and carny accidents you are struck by all the names not known. How can someone work for years for a carny outfit and no one know their name? Because the first rule you learn is that if you aren't told the name, don't ask. Don't ask about the past ever. Don't talk about the past. There is only the now and the next town. When the cops come learn the word for them and if you have to hide- hide. No one asks why.
Del touched the floor and felt the glasses! He put them on and could read the sign. HOUSE ON UNAMERICAN ACTIVITIES THIS WAY.
1960
Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear And it shows them pearly white Just a jackknife has old MacHeath, babe And he keeps it … ah … out of sight. Ya know when that shark bites, with his teeth, babe Scarlet billows start to spread Fancy gloves, though, wears old MacHeath, babe So there's nevah, nevah a trace of red. Now on the sidewalk … uuh, huh … whoo … sunny mornin' … uuh, huh Lies a body just oozin' life … eeek! And someone's sneakin' 'round the corner Could that someone be Mack the Knife? A-there's a tugboat … huh, huh, huh … down by the river don'tcha know Where a cement bag's just a'droopin' on down Oh, that cement is just, it's there for the weight, dear Five'll get ya ten old Macky's back in town. Now, d'ja hear 'bout Louie Miller? He disappeared, babe After drawin' out all his hard-earned cash And now MacHeath spends just like a sailor Could it be our boy's done somethin' rash?
Now … Jenny Diver … ho, ho … yeah … Sukey Tawdry Ooh … Miss Lotte Lenya and old Lucy Brown Oh, the line forms on the right, babe Now that Macky's back in town. Aah … I said Jenny Diver … whoa … Sukey Tawdry Look out to Miss Lotte Lenya and old Lucy Brown Yes, that line forms on the right, babe Now that Macky's back in town …
Look out … old Macky is back!!
He can't believe Bobby Darren has taken a communist song and turned it into a lounge song.
He is walking to the store when a kid hands him a flyer and it's not an advertisement- it's about HUAC calling in teachers and professors to question them on their loyalty.
Del says nothing but he shows up and gets inside (each person is given a white pass that lets in 5). He tags along, hears a commotion behind him and someone starts singing. Then almost everyone is singing but he doesn't know the words. That's when some start to sing as they enter the meeting chambers and Del turns to see a man holding a water hose yelling, "You want some?" as the crowd sings.
Del looks up at the person across from him whose arm is broken. It looks like at any second the bone will come through the skin. The person Del attached himself to yells for him to follow him to get out.
"No thanks", Del yells back over the screams and noise and surreal scene of thousands of dollars of damage to stop- singing!
"I think I'll stay here and fight."
Posted at 12:19 pm by Psychomike
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Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Del had invited me to Crosscurrents to see the work he was involved in after a conversation we had on the French Oulipian writing movement. He was surprised I knew of a 1960 underground European writing experiment but I did actually learn a few things in art school. The idea ranges from free form to using structures to write. Time shifts without warning, we discover characters more than we are told their characteristics. A short film using this style was seen by millions of Americans after Rod Serling saw it and bought it for THE TWILIGHT ZONE. It was called INCIDENT AT OWL CREEK BRIDGE http://www.moria.co.nz/fantasy/owlcreek.htm and many even saw the film in schools with no idea that the filmmakers were using a Oulipian structure. Del told me he was working on a pattern of three different scenes which would lead to a group work, then the three scenes would be more revealing of the people and lead to another group scene, then there would be an overlapping of the three scenes and sometimes an ending. Not written as the Oulipian movement was but live on stage.
"When I write about our times together", I said, "I'll write it in that form. No one will believe the stories anyway, although they are all true. You and I have lived the lives of a 100 men." Del laughed as we sat in the Stagecoach Restaurant on North and Wells and he ended his laugh with a cough. The Roachcoach Del called the joint, the food wasn't very good with over cooked eggs (if a restaurant can fuck up cooking eggs you don't want to eat there) and frozen hashed browns. It was however near Del's place and open all hours for those odd times when the high wore off and he got hungry. The area is known as Old Town and the hippies that lived there were being pushed out by young professionals willing to buy.
"Have you heard from Patti?", he asked me quietly.
Not in weeks. I presume she'll show up with a bag of coke, a limo and a stack of money but I wouldn't stay home waiting for her. Del laughed. A low dirty laugh.
So I agreed to bring a date to the show and headed home where the Rolaids was waiting.
Boom Boom and I sat at a table at Crosscurrents with my usual, a gin and tonic and she had a beer. There were about 70 people who had paid to be there at the bar watching the show, and I was impressed. Behind us were his students, about a dozen more. The piano started, Del went up to the stage to loud applause.
"Good evening and welcome. I'm Del Close and I'd like to introduce my friend, Michael Flores".
People applauded the way they do when they think maybe they should know you but don't. I gave a slight wave.
"No, Michael, come on up". So I got up and walked to the stage.
"Tell me about slack" Del started and I realized we were in a structure. For the next 20 minutes we did the purest improv I've ever done- I didn't know the rule of agreement, of protecting your partner, I wasn't even sure I knew the structure Del was using.
The waves of laughs coming from the crowd felt really good, as did the cheers and applause at the end.
I knew music, so I understood beats in comedy. I knew old Hollywood, so I knew about protecting your partner and making everyone look good.I bounded off the stage to head to the restrooms and was grabbed by Jim Belushi. "What team are you?" he asked as the others gathered around to hear my reply.
"I like the Cubs", not meaning to be a smart ass but I had no idea what he was talking about. A girl behind him asked me what classes I was taking and when I said none, the looks on their faces confused me. Some looked shocked, some bewildered a few just stared.
After the show I asked Del if he thought I should take a class. He laughed. "No Michael, you should teach one!" he said with a cough.
The gravity of what had happened was starting to hit me. "Let's do this again", I said.
Del beamed, "Anytime".
Posted at 11:05 am by Psychomike
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Monday, December 11, 2006
How do you describe someone you really admired and loved?
And yet, he has so many aggravating traits? He was an instinctive conman. It was impossible to know when to believe him or disbelieve him. Everything he said or did was for effect. That is why he was so difficult to interview. He would deliberately say the opposite of what he knew you wanted to hear. He could be kind, gracious and gentile with a wonderful sense of humor. But he could also be vindictive and mean. All one could do with John Ford is accept him with all of his virtues and faults, and love him.
Maureen O'Hara on John Ford
When a man's partner is killed, he's supposed to do something about it. It doesn't make any difference what you thought of him. He was your partner and you're supposed to do something about it. And it happens we're in the detective business. Well, when one of your organization gets killed, it's-it's bad business to let the killer get away with it, bad all around, bad for every detective everywhere. THE MALTESE FALCON
Patti told the limo driver to pick her up the next day at 10 am and we stepped out of the limo. I lived at 1939 North Lincoln, when Lincoln Park was all Mexican. The whites wouldn't move in until Old Town was filled up. On Friday and Saturday nights the lobby was filled with mariachi bands waiting for their ride to work. Playing LA CUCARACHA for people who had no idea the song was about pot smoking. Marijuana por fumar indeed!
I was paying $400 a month, with a balcony overlooking Lincoln Avenue. In one direction from me was a damn good pizza joint, the opposite direction was the Park West. Not to mention a cool fondue restaurant. And the last days of the Playboy Club.
Patti and I took the elevator up to my pad and as soon as we got in she started kissing me. Now, because I had learned to make love during the free love era, I had long ago learned to hold back sometimes 30%, sometimes more of my sexual capability. It scared most women. As we kissed I realized she was matching me, going toe to toe. I decided to go full tilt boogie. She did not hesitate to match me. Holy shit!
Sex is a lot like music. When musicians get together to jam they create rhythms and solos and bridges. Same with sex. And I was jamming with the best.
She had a mirror with lines of coke on it and would periodically lean over to snort a line. Funny thing about coke. It makes women even more insatiable, but makes men lose control.
I like being in control of my instrument.
So I didn't do any but damn was I enjoying her ever growing wildness as she did a line.
Besides, from Newsweek to Sports Illustrated to Time, we were all being told it was "like pot".
A pity about the facts.
Bam I rose up and the sweat dripped down my face and dropped onto her skin and I kissed her with my eyes closed and I was fucking and she was squeezing and I opened my eyes and I was by the bridge in Piedmont Park and could hear the Allman Brothers jamming with the Grateful Dead and I was fucking Mona hey, hey Mona
and I'd been at that bridge a hundred times but damn Mona knew what to do it was Charlie Parker meets Milt Jackson and John Coltrane it wasn't fucking anymore it was a jam session and then I asked Patti-
When do you want me to come
and she climbed on top and said I'll say when and off we went again.
I can't tell you when the song ended but even after all that coke she collapsed in my arms.
Goodnight.
Morning came with automatic wood and we went at it again. I guess she wanted to know if what had happened was because of the coke or was it real.
So I made a pot of coffee and talked to her.
I told her how beautiful she was, I knew Skip Williamson at Playboy and she should meet him and maybe get a job. She said they didn't really hire strippers and I had no idea she was one and looked surprised.
"When I was 12, my mom drove me to a high-rise and told me the room to go to. And to do what I was told to do. That was my first john".
What the fuck? What did I just hear?
Her mom was her pimp.
I held her as she started to cry, and promised her I wasn't lying. We would go to Playboy and I really believed she could work for their modeling agency, and get in the mag. She looked at me like she had heard it all before, but not from someone who decided when he would come.
She said she wanted to do it, and stop stripping. And everything else.
"Ok Mike. I'll call you. But I have to ask you. Have you ever heard of a guy named Del Close?', she said as I nodded, no.
Posted at 12:45 am by Psychomike
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Friday, December 15, 2006
The day after the riot 3500 people angered at the obvious brutality used against the protesters (not to mention the thousands of gallons of water that had damaged the building) showed up to protest the HUAC hearings. Del was already thinking about moving to New York.
His friends were headed to Chicago, but Del wanted to try his hand at standup. And hunting rats.
Del arrived in NYC and found a source for speed, perfectly acceptable in those days and prescribed like aspirin. Need to lose weight? Take speed. Need to study? Take speed. In World War 2 our pilots were given speed to keep them awake. In Germany, the pilots were given crystal meth. Hitler himself got 7 to 9 shots of crystal meth a day from 1941 on. Speed was like the messenger of the Gods Mercury, you could rant for hours. Hugh Hefner used speed while writing his philosophy. Police wouldn't even arrest you for taking it. They were on it too! Soldiers were on it, too. Elvis was given it to stay awake for guard duty. It would lead to a life of drugs for him. All LEGAL.
Del was pleased to see there was a manhole cover in front of his building. In those days from Chicago to NYC to LA you bought already rolled joints from the local newsstand.
So Del laid his joints on the table. He put the syringe on the table. His spoon and his speed. He took out his gun and made sure it was loaded. On the floor was his roller skates. ROLLER SKATES. He had a helmet with a flashlight held on by duct tape. Before Velcro there was duct tape. Always worth having around the house.
He was wearing shorts and a short sleeved shirt. His battle gear.
The needle sucked in the speed from the spoon and he stuck it in his vein andbegantorepeatgonnaget'emgonnaget'emgonnaget'em like a mantra put a pack of cigs in his shirt pocket along with his joints put on his roller skates gonnaget'emgonnaget'emgonnaget'em put the helmet on gonnaget'emgonnaget'em a rush hit him with that feeling of falling you sometimes get when you're asleep the goosebumps rising gonnaget'emgonnaget'em stick the gun in his pants gonnaget'em put on goggles over the glasses READY!
Carefully walk down the stairs to the sidewalk gonnaget'em open the door gonnaget'em passersby ignore him (hey, it's New York) gonnaget'em lifts up the manhole cover, sets it aside and begins to carefully walk down the ladder. Gonnaget'em pausing to pull the cover back over the hole and it was dark like going into a cave and he switched on his flashlight.
He touched bottom and took a joint from his pocket lighting it. He took a long drag, left the joint dangling from his mouth. He began to skate. gonnaget'emgonnaget'em and he pulled his gun out.
There they were.
The rats.
Big huge fat rats.
They ignored him.
Big mistake.
He began to skate and took aim, BAM and a rat with its guts on display stuck to the wall.
Holy shit the rats must have thought as they started to run away, what th- BAM this one flies in the air and roller skating towards them was something they knew they had to run from the way people run from Godzilla when he comes near DO NOT PANIC GODZILLA IS APPROACHING well then- when are you supposed to panic? I think Godzilla approaching is precisely when you need to panic. Rats don't have time to ask what's wrong as humans do, they are already in flight.
Del skates through their ranks blasting away TIME TO RELOAD shit that fat one is getting away gonnaget'emgonnaget'em the joint is done.
Time for another one.
This was Del Close. This would be my partner.
Posted at 09:23 am by Psychomike
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Sunday, December 17, 2006
TRIPPIN' ON FREE LOVE BLUES
Hello, I love you
Wont you tell me your name?
Hello, I love you
Let me jump in your game
Hello, I love you
Wont you tell me your name?
Hello, I love you
Let me jump in your game
Shes walking down the street
Blind to every eye she meets
Do you think youll be the guy
To make the queen of the angels sigh?
Hello, I love you
Wont you tell me your name?
Hello, I love you
Let me jump in your game
Hello, I love you
Wont you tell me your name?
Hello, I love you
Let me jump in your game
She holds her head so high
Like a statue in the sky
Her arms are wicked, and her legs are long
When she moves my brain screams out this song
Sidewalk crouches at her feet
Like a dog that begs for something sweet
Do you hope to make her see, you fool?
Do you hope to pluck this dusky jewel?
Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello
I want you
Hello
I need my baby
Hello, hello, hello, hello
- Jim Morrison, The Doors
For a kid loose in the free love era, there is no sense all this will end. It is a perpetual party. Atlantis Rising was the "head" shop on Peachtree Street that I'd sit in front of, selling my Great Speckled Bird. When you walked in the shop there were bootlegs on the floor, barrels of coffee beans, day glo posters and blacklights. Pipes and rolling papers of all colors and images of every kind on the papers. Some like the flag. Some like draft cards. I had the poster that matched astrology signs with sex positions on my wall
and a poster of W.C. Fields.
Peter Pan was the hot girl on the strip of the moment and I saw her walk by with her giirlfriends who worked at the topless club further downtown. The world had gone topless it seemed. Go go dancers had lost their tops, movies were often topless, there were even topless barber shops. Not that I would go to one. I looked like a stick of broccolli with my huge uncut afro and skinny body.
"Hey chick, wanna ball?" I blurted out. Ball meant sex.
She looked at me, turned to her friends and looking back at me said, "Groovy", her long blonde hair swaying as she walked.
That was that. I got up and we walked a few blocks to her place. It was a great walk, as many of my friends watched me with them. There was Peyote, so named because when he first came to town he had a trunk full of peyote buttons. You can see him in the WOODSTOCK film during the fish cheer section with his unkept hair and beard. There was Jimmy, awol from the Army giving me a huge smile. He blew his brains out when the MP's came to take him back. There was Dottie, beautiful Dottie who liked women and men. We walked by the guys giving away Orange Sunshine on the street. See, they'd give it away one day and come back on the weekend to sell it. Word of mouth would be the best advertising.
Acid was about altered realities, but it was also about advertising. TURN ON, TUNE IN AND DROP OUT was what Timothy Leary said. Well, we all were raised to do that. We'd turn on the TV, tune in one of the three to five channels, and drop out on the couch to watch. The words matched a ritual we had been doing since childhood. Which technically, I was still in.
There I was in her place with her three friends.
"Have you ever had a flower?", she asked as the other girls laughed. I had no idea what she was talking about. We all got undressed and I stood as the girls took turns kissing me. Funny, I didn't feel sexually used.
The girls then saw I was aroused and turned away, bending over.
I got it. Each was a petal, I was the stem.
I spun like a top!
I have no idea how long this went on but when it was over we started getting off on the Orange Sunshine. The girls were having fun, but I wanted to go back to the strip to trip. So I split. "Hey", Peter Pan called out to me, "What's your name?" as I walked into the night.
"Flash", I yelled back, stumbling towards the scene.
I sat myself down in front of the shop as a bootleg of Bob Dylan THE GREAT WHITE WONDER spilled it's sounds into the street.Cars were backed up now as rednecks came to look at the hippies. No cops in sight. Duane Allman walked by. He smiled and said, "Hey Flash. Far out" and walked over to me. He sat down next to me on the sidewalk.
"Hey dude", he said in his always friendly southern tone. "What's happenin"?" and I told him he'd missed the Brotherhood giving out free sunshine. We talked about the music coming from the store and I told him I wished I knew about the blues. I knew the British and American versions, some B.B. King, and that was about it. He told me to come with him. So we go behind the shop and we get on his bike and take off. I'm starting to trip hard riding with Duane and we get to his place and go inside.
He has a collection of 78's and 45's that is the biggest I've ever seen.
He hands me a beer and sits me down.
"This is Delta blues, this record is from 1933", and so begins my class on the blues.
For the next 7 hours or so, I heard every form of the blues. Who played on the record. How it was recorded. What happened to the artist. From Duane Allman.
And I thought what a great day. And I thought it would always be like this.
LIFE IS A CARNIVAL
You can walk on the water, drown in the sand
You can fly off a mountaintop if anybody can
Run away, run away--it's the restless age
Look away, look away--you can turn the page
Hey, buddy, would you like to buy a watch real cheap
Here on the street
I got six on each arm and two more round my feet
Life is a carnival--believe it or not
Life is a carnival--two bits a shot
Saw a man with the jinx in the third degree
From trying to deal with people--people you can't see
Take away, take away, this house of mirrors
Give away, give away, all the souvenirs
We're all in the same boat ready to float off the edge of the world
The flat old world
The street is a sideshow from the peddler to the corner girl
Life is a carnival--it's in the book
Life is a carnival--take another look
Hey, buddy, would you like to buy a watch real cheap
Here on the street
I got six on each arm and two more round my feet
Life is a carnival--believe it or not
Life is a carnival--two bits a shot
- The Band
Posted at 07:11 am by Psychomike
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Thursday, December 28, 2006
SECOND GROUP GAME: CLOSE CALLS
Skip Williamson was one of my personal saviors. He had practically helped invent the underground comic books I had read as a hippie kid,
he was a total art genius who had provided much eye candy for tripping hippies. Not only did he have an eye for his own art, he could spot talent a mile away. I had brought him artists like Tim Anderson fresh out of college, Will Northerner, and a guy named Mitch O'Connell
 all brilliant- but basically comic book guys I didn't really hang with. Comic book guys are funny. They can be your best pal, then when a girl comes along- they drop all their friends the woman doesn't like. But Skip- Jesus- we destroyed the Gold Coast together so many times it wasn't funny. He was a biker without a bike, a poet a hoodlum a fellow drinker a hell raiser a man's man. Somehow, he had become one of the Art Directors at PLAYBOY. And the issues he did art editing on are still highly prized by those in the know. I would meet him at his office for lunch and we would teach the bars we went to how to make Long Island Iced Teas. I still believe we re-introduced the drink to Chicago, as at the time no bar was serving them in Chicago.
And when a girl would tell him to get rid of me, he just laughed it off and ordered another round.
Once he took out $600 to buy a leather jacket and we headed to Oak Street to get buzzed into an exclusive clothing store. They took one look at Skip, who resembled a biker, and wouldn't let us in! An art director from PLAYBOY with $600 cash in his pocket and they were afraid of him!
That is Skip. I thought that was cool as hell.
A lot of guys at Playboy use their job to get laid. Not Skip. Babes would come on to him and he would walk away. If he had a girl, that was it. That was enough. How cool is that?
Before I took Patti in to see Skip- I had to get her off coke.
So I sat her with one night- and she stopped. The funny thing about addictions is that once the person decides to quit- they just do it. When Patti went through two days without doing a line, and flushed the quarter ounce she had down the toilet, I knew it was ok to take her to Playboy.
But first, she wanted me to go to the Blues Brothers Bar, and meet this guy named Del Close.
I had never had a girl tell me they wanted me to meet one of the other guys they were fucking before, unless it was a three way. But she said we had the same sense of humor and I should meet him. He was one of the teachers and directors at Second City.
I had been to Second City in college, they didn't card so college kids could drink at the late show.
We went to the Blues Bar and there he was. Holding court. Surrounded by students hanging on to his every word. He saw Patti and broke into a huge smile and they hugged.
Gee, that wasn't awkward for me!
Patti had to go, she made the introductions and Del asked his students if he could speak to me alone.
Class dismissed.
I sat down and his eyes teared up. "I heard what you did for Patti", he said, " Thank you".
And then I said, "Well I had read MOONCHILD by Aleister Crowley so I knew how to get people off drugs".
He looked stunned. "You know about Aleister Crowley?" he asked.
Well, Kenneth Anger, one of the heads of the O.T.O. was a friend of mine and-
"You know Ken Anger?", he asked.
"Yep, since I was 17. I had written him that I thought I had figured out sex magick and he invited me to his his home in NYC. I brought a girl from the Art Institute with me and we had sex in one room, while Ken had a chess board in the other. I would visualize the board and shout out my moves while having sex with the Art Girl from the Art Institute I had met and fallen hard for and though I didn't win, the game went about two hours.", I said.
We talked of Crowley's poetry,
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Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.
His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden's imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience.
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Ken's films (he helped create underground movies with FIREWORKS, SCORPIO RISING and other films).
I told him I was into Japanese animation. He hadn't seen any, because in those days those cartoons weren't available here.
And the time passed and we agreed to meet at my place in a few days.
I dug the guy. But didn't know anything about him really.
Let me just say that in all the years we knew each other, Del never raised his voice or questioned me or anything like that. Never. I was surprised years later to hear how hard he was on people, phonies and assholes. He never even raised his voice at me.
It was time for sleep, and to take Patti to Playboy.
Posted at 11:34 pm by Psychomike
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Sunday, January 14, 2007
What Happened At Playboy?
I walked past the Treasure Island grocery store and stepped off the sidewalk and headed down the path to Steve's Blues Bar, wondering if people who saw me go through the gate knew where I was going. I walked down the well trod path to the simple little house that housed the wildest party in Chicago. Steve smiled and said hello as I walked in, ready to party.
And meet Del. And Patti. I saw Del at the bar and walked over and said hello and then Patti walked over. Size 2 dress, fuck me heels to here, plunging neckline, and laughing and happy.
Del asked, "What happened at Playboy" and I told him about taking her to meet Skip and then the fellow who did the initial selection of girls for the centerfold and then the head of the modeling agency and then-
Everyone each step of the way agreeing to work with her.
The three of us laughed and talked and every now and then Patti would look over at me right in the eyes and squeeze my hand.
I woke up in the morning and watched her sleep but I knew it was time to go to work. I got dressed and ran out the door to look at footage shot for THE WILD KINGDOM and as I left the building I saw a long limo in front.
Two guys stood by the car. Eyeing me. As I walked by them, one pressed a gun into my back.
"Get in the car", he said softly, "someone wants to talk to you".
What happens to you in life is that if a Chicago policeman holds a gun on you and you know he can shoot you and get away with it, it's difficult to be threatened by a gun unfired.
I walked away.
As I hit Armitage to turn towards Clark I looked over and saw them standing by the car. Stunned.
When I got home that night Patti was upset. And shaking.
She said to me that she never meant to get me in trouble, she should never have gone to Playboy and ..........
I explained to her after being in riots, spied on by every U.S. Intel group in the late 1960's and even threatened by the Georgia KKK really I could handle it.
And we were going through the headshots, photos and auditions and she was going to make it.
Period.
For three days Patti discovered she really was beautiful, and I reaped the rewards.
After watching hours of footage of animals having sex that the cameramen had shot to amuse the editors I headed home. But Patti wasn't there.
There was a note.
" I have to meet my mom at my sister's place. She flew in from LA".
Momma's back.........
END OF CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2: THE MONOLOG: OF LOVECRAFT, HUBBARD, CROWLEY AND ANGER
Click on NEXT PAGE in the right hand corner for chapter 2
Posted at 08:09 pm by Psychomike
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