There’s No Doubt In My Mind That

We Made Love. How Pedestrian The Words Look-trite, Worn, Practically Featureless With Use-but How Can One Better Describe That Which Happens When It Happens? That Creation? That Magic Blending? I Might Say We Became Figures In A Mesmerized Dance Before The Rocking Talisman Of The Moon, Starting Slow, So Slow... A Pair Of Feathers Drifting Through Clear Liquid Substance Of Sky... Gradually Accelerating, Faster And Faster And Finally Into Photon Existence Of Pure Light... As My Whole Straining Body Burst Like Fluid Electricity Into Hers.

He's The Sort Of Guy That Gets A Laugh Out Of People.

He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum

Turns Me On So Loud It's Like No Sound, Everybody Yelling At Me Hands Over Their Ears From Behind A Glass Wall, Faces Working Around In Talk Circles But No Sound From The Mouths. My Sound Soaks Up All Other Sound.

The Grateful Dead Are Our Religion. This Is A Religion That Doesn't Pay Homage To The God That All The Other Religions Pay Homage To.