| I found a rugged quartz crystal in our
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| | earnest.
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| garden yesterday and brought it to my
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| | One day, I took Alphia Lee for a walk in
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| writing table, to gaze at its beauty and
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| | Golden Gate park. A squirrel distracted
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| reveal its mystery as I write, like
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| | her from the beloved stick, and damn it
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| gazing into a crystal ball.
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| | if she didn't run in front of a fast
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| The five crystals in the center of it are
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| | moving car. She crawled back to the side
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| perfect, in their own wild way, like the
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| | of the road.
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| days I spent in total conflict with
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| | I remember crying and kneeling beside
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| myself, with society and the world.
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| | her, going over her body, getting a sense
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| It brings to mind one of my favorite
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| | of how badly she was hurt. A car pulled
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| Alphia stories, my golden German Shepard
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| | over and a young man asked to take me
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| Collie of the 1960's, the pre-Funk
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| | where ever I wished to go.
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| commune years, occurring several months
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| | He had an old blanket and we carefully
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| after the communal caravan arrived in San
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| | laid her on it.
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| Francisco.
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| | Then he drove Alphia and me to the big
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| We found our large Victorian house after
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| | rambling Victorian house that was our
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| several weeks of illegal camping around
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| | temporary abode.
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| the jagged Pacific shore hideaways and in
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| | We prepared a bed for her with old
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| the many untamed parks for which the city
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| | blankets and rags.
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| is famous.
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| | She'd look at us with a forlorn Muki eye,
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| The caravan people had remained
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| | the dog who joined me 28 years later to
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| disgruntled in spite of the constant dog
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| | show me true love.
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| God guidance surrounding us.
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| | That look inspired me to slip into the
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| A chasm developed between those who
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| | meat department of a local Safeway, and
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| wanted to join the ranks of the
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| | steal one steak a day for her, and for
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| work-a-day world, and the four of us who
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| | her only.
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| went on to establish the Funky Farm
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| | Then we'd sit with her for hours,
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| community and knew that going to work was
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| | stroking her neck and body and
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| antithetical to living creatively by the
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| | encouraging her to come back to us.
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| seat of our pants.
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| | The long intimate times we spent with her
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| I had come to a place within myself where
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| | were patient and happy. We did not
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| I needed to live outside of the
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| | desperately plead with her to live rather
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| mainstream, established 9-5 ho-hum I'm
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| | than die. Rather, we coaxed her gently,
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| beaten down, kill me now style of
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| | showing her our love, and gave her the
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| existence I imagined my father ascribing
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| | great option of living with a handful of
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| to for his thirty-five working years, at
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| | rogues completely alienated from society.
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| the same place, doing the same job,
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| | She opted to spend a few more years with
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| everyday. I'd think of an exhilarating
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| | us in our experiment of
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| alternative, bet on that.
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| | living--dangerously.
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| My life as a rip off artist now began in
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| |
|
