Queer Chicken Dinner

Queer Chicken Dinner My Insincere Apologies to the Beat Generation

A rebuttal of Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’

Unpublished Draft Manuscript

© 2012 by Ronald Thomas West This work may be electronically shared for educational and/or critical essay purposes. For profit & mass paper media redistribution prohibited.

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This endeavor began by accident or, alternatively had  been engineered engineered by fate and and the gods. I’d been perusing perusing the International Herald Tribune (Global Edition of the  New York Times), Times), May 23, 2012 2012 and noticed noticed the ‘On the Road’ (on the big screen) article in the culture section, about an upcoming screening of a new film at the Cannes festival in France. I’d thought to myself, ‘ok, it’s long  past time I’d read read this book.’ So I bought ‘On ‘On the Road.’ The 'Penguin Modern Classics' edition of Jack Kerouac's 'On the Road' has a brief (23 page) backgroundcharacters biography by Kerouac biographer Ann Charters. At this point in my rebuttal, I'd read that and chapter one. My initial impression .. Neal Cassidy, the  bi-sexual Denver Denver skid row kid kid who the central central character Dean Moriarty is based on, is hardly representative of the western states 'spirit of freedom' despite whatever Kerouac, Ginsburg, Burroughs et al, impressions might have been. I'm not saying Cassidy is entirely devoid of 'the free spirit of the west', only he was not anywhere near a whole picture, but more like a factory damaged misprint. The kids I knew in my youth were probably ten times as dangerouss and interesting. Likely the comparison to dangerou Gene Autry is correct, a lot of his act was tied up in acting, trying be something in actuality he was not. I'm putting my money on the thought the 'beat

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generation' philosophers in fact were conned beyond their ability to grasp just how conned they were, but mostly just self-conned. Bob Dylan (Zimmerman) stated about ‘On the Road’ “It changed my life like it changed everyone else’s” Well, Zimmerman got it wrong. There was this  phenomenaa I’d known in my teen years  phenomen years and as a young man, that was altogether uninfluenced by ‘On the Road.’ I will write this rebuttal chapter by chapter, not having skipped ahead. Each of Kerouac’s ‘yarns’ concerning the Rocky Mountain character particularly, and the western states generally, will be a fresh experience, my not having read ‘On the Road’ previously, when making criticisms and any comparisons to the ‘Real McCoy.’ We had what was known as ‘the line.’ The line was the old U.S. Highway 2 from Blue Moon Tavern at Columbia Falls to Freda’s Bar at West Glacier, Montana, in the 1950s, 60s & 70s. And it was every bar and pub  between. Kids from from ‘up the line’ line’ were known to be  particularly wild. wild. The line line was about 16 miles miles and 24  bars along a strip strip of pavement pavement through what what was in those days ‘wild country’ in ways that defy the stereotype. That wild country produced wild young people no Denver skid row kid could ever hope to compete with. A related personal note on so-called ‘Beat’ writers would  be, likely this is why I could never never relate to the work work of Gary Snyder, also I'd met Richard Brautigan when he was living in Paradise Valley in the late 1970s and found

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him insufferable, insufferable, conceited, rudderless, empty in ways that cannot be explained by Zen (and unapproachable as soon as he realized he'd met a real Montana country boy from a mixed White/Native American community.) Looking back, I have to say I was impressed at the man’s lack of reality, in a sense, a fraud. Did moving to Montana in some sense confer a Dean Moriarty-like authenticity in Brautigan’s mind? I suppose that might be motivation for an outsider, in process of trying to convince their self of something they in reality cannot and never will know. I see it this way: A country kid can go to the city and have his eyes opened. A city kid can go to the country and have his mind blown. There is a nuance here I am speaking of, for instance when you go into the wild country away from the ‘noise’ .. it takes about five days for all of the reverberations and echoes to vanish and find the stillness. City kids often freak out at the silence. Country kids often find it healing. At 61 years, I’m certainly not going to write my rebuttal correcting the western ‘character’ and ‘freedom’ in Kerouac’s style of three weeks Benzedrine psychosis (warping my imagination.) imagination.) So I will browse ‘On the Road’ at my favorite horseback pace, a leisurely walk. And give my impressions of the book in juxtaposition to authentic recollections recollections of those years alcohol was interspersed with mescaline, mescaline, LSD, et cetera in a wild country with wild characters who oftentimes simply and soberly loved the area we lived in because it was absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

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 Reminisce: I was riding horseback through the forest forest in the Great Bear wilderness on a moonless & overcast night, you could not see your hand in front of your face. The route was from the Middle Fork of the Flathead  River headwaters country, country, across the Continental Divide Divide at Badger Pass and out into the foothills of the Rocky  Mountain Front on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. I had total trust in my barefoot Blackfoot pony to keep its  footing in the pitch dark, know the route and to stay on and make a correct decision at any fork in the trail.  Relaxed in the saddle, I brought out my rolling rolling tobacco and made a cigarette I never saw until I'd lit the th e match ..

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Kerouac whines and beats on him self like an autistic child in chapter 2, rescued from his ill-conceived initiation of hitch-hiking without a rain poncho, he spends his money on a bus ticket to Chicago. So he is one of those kids whose balls retract into pre-puberty as soon as he’s in cold water.  Now, my impression is, if Kerouac had been  Now, been up the  North Fork of of the Flathead River River in the company company of some real country toughs, they’d have dared him to kick a  bloated Elk carcass carcass just as hard as he he could and it’d have exploded with a real ‘ripe tripe’ and covered him head to toe. Now, that’d be something could be excused for his whining to extreme over, with doubled over country boy hysterics surrounding surrounding his more certain misery at that. George and myself had George h ad announced a ludicrous pact, while partying at the Dew Drop Inn located between Coram and West Glacier. We’d take off in the morning and hitch-hike to party in Baja California. And that is what we did. With about $90 and a couple ounces of decent marijuana we headed off to party on the beach in Ensenada and have a swim in the Pacific. The trip down was easy, initially we hitched Highway 2 over to Spokane, S pokane, Washington, to catch I-90 over to I-5 and south, the rides weree pretty good. A young mother with her infant along, wer  gave us a ride after dark in western Washington Washington State. I held my tongue until she was slowing to drop us where

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our routes diverged diverged and then gave her a re real al piece of my mind over the risk she’d taken picking up hitch-hikers, endangering herself and her child.. We didn’t sweat bringing our dope into Mexico, the food at the little open market was incredibly cheap, we swam,  smoked joints, and drank cheap beer until our funds ran out. We We had a bit of dried beef, granola, and such and headed back to Montana after a week partying in Baja. The most remarkable memory I have of our stoned and drunken haze on the beach at Ensenada, was waking up in the middle of the night to the very real sight and accompanying roar, roar, lying on my back staring with eyes that must have been the size of silver dollars at the underside of a large dune buggy chassis that happened to catch air in a leap directly over the depression we were  passed out in, between rises in the sand. The rides north were not nearly as easy to catch and the  going was slow. slow. By the time we’d reached reached Sacramento, we were not only broke broke but now our rations ra tions had run out.  Along the way we’d poached some green ears of corn  from a large field for roasting. roasting. It loosened the bowls a bit but was sustenance and we wer weree grateful for that.  In Sacramento you cannot make a campfire campfire to roast corn, and eating it raw is asking for dysentery, dysentery, so we disposed of what we had left and an d the next days we’re looking a bit desperate. The freeway onramp had another set of hitchhikers ahead of us and they had first shot at any ride, simple etiquette. We’d We’d asked how long they’d been at this particular onramp and an d the reply was 2 ! days, not

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encouraging. The graffiti did not look promising either .. on a sign post at the onramp someone had scrawled ‘no dope, no hope, no ride, I died’ .. another philosopher had inscribed ‘the age of Moses may be gone but I’ve been heree 40 days and 40 nights.’ Meanwhile, the Sacramento her traffic flowed as though we were invisible.  About midnight, a young man working as a janitor  parked his VW bus adjacent to the onramp and took his cleaning gear into a building. Within five minutes, the hitch-hikers ahead of us on the ramp had hot wired the little van and taken off. At 5 AM or so, we saw the owner come out of the building and flip out over the missing van.  At noon, a car slowed down for us, our hopes went sky high, only to see a missile fired direct our way from the window of the car car,, as a half consumed ice cream cone hit George Geor ge in the chest. That Th at did it. We We shouldered our packs and started walking. Having shortly inquired of the direction dire ction to the nearest railroad railroad tracks, we began our trekk to catch a freight train. After over an hour tre hou r hike and within sight of the tracks, a police car stopped us and we were asked what we were doing. We explained openly and honestly and the cops put us into their car and drove back to hitch-hike from the same onramp!  No sooner than the cops were out of sight, we shouldered shouldered our packs again and made the identical trek and made it to the tracks, and thence to a fre freight ight yard. Sorting the trains with the help of local degenerates (hobos) we  found a freight bound north and found our way to  Ellensberg, Washington Washington State. The weather was nice and

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we’d opted for a flat car. car. Through that night, we saw intermittent stars as our train passed through tunnels and out again, making steady time. Crossing a pass along the way, our model 1939 Army surplus sleeping bags kept us safe against the cold. A hobo we’d met had  suggested selling our blood to the local blood bank, to  get a bit of money to eat. We We passed on that idea and he went on to explain he managed to stay high that way, he’d sell his blood and buy Ruby Port wine to build it back up. I’ve never liked the idea of a transfusion since.  At Ellensberg, we left left the trains behind for I-90 and hitch-hiking again. We We caught a ride in the back b ack of a  pick-up to Spokane and a trucker gave us a ride to  Bonners Ferry, Ferry, Idaho. We We must have looked in pretty pretty rough shape because he’d asked how long it’d been since we’d had anything to eat. We’d We’d stated “the other side of Sacramento.” At Bonners Ferry, when letting us off, he reached re ached into his pocket for his wallet and gave us five dollars. We We were not whiners, had not no t asked for anything other than a ride, but our gratitude was immense. We We thanked him sincerely, sincerely, however I expect our eyes had made the better statement. Ther Theree was a groce grocery ry near the  spot he let us off and in ten minutes we were having a loaf of whole grain bread, together with a block of o f decent cheddar and two quarts of beer, beer, a real feast. Less than tha n 200 miles from home, our adventure could be consider cons idered ed complete. We’d done it for a single, simple reason. We’d  said we would do it.

My distinct impression is, Kerouac could not have toughed our trip out, without breaking down in sobbing hysterics.. he’s a huge whiner in chapter 2 and quit to

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take the bus almost before his trip had began. If this is honestly self indicative of a Columbia University football player who’d quit, he’d also quit the Navy,  perhaps we already already begin to understand his his looking up to a skid row loser from Denver as a role model of western freedom..

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Kerouac does not have good instincts ‘on the road.’ Rather than conserve his money with intelligent  purchases from from grocery stores, stores, he eats out at diners, diners, easily tripling the drain on his limited resources. According to the Bureau of Labor calculator, his $50 he  began ‘hitch-hiking’ ‘hitch-hiking’ with, is $127, adjusted adjusted for inflation, inflation,  by the date George George and and I had hitched to Mexico and back with $90 and two of us at that. The distance differential, Lowell, Massachusetts to Denver, about 1,800 miles, versus West Glacier, Montana to Baja and back, more than 2,500 miles, points to Kerouac’s lack of common sense. Kerouac is going broke or so he would have you  believe, and he he is still hundreds of of miles short of Denver Denver.. George and I had hitched into Baja, over 1,250 miles and had money enough for two of us to stay more or less drunk for nearly a week on cheap Mexican beer (we’d  brought along along our own marijuana.) marijuana.) When we ran out out of survival rations and were stuck in Sacramento on the return journey, we’d sorted the freight trains by querying hobos, Kerouac mentions the freights in passing as a  possibility he cannot cannot act on, because because he lacked good good information.. But in fact I do believe what he’d actually information lacked was courage.  Hobos are oftentimes oftentimes predators, and hippies were were  sometimes their prey prey.. On an earlier occasion riding  freights,  fre ights, I was in the company of 3 hippies I’d hooked up with, when traveling home to Montana, following spring  semester at college in Southern California, my first year on the G.I. Bill, following extended tour of Vietnam. Vietnam. Two Two

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hobos will easily size up the possibility to rob four hippies and I had long hair and might have looked the  part but I certainly was not from Sausalito. As it happened, we had to change trains at a freight yard in Oregon, and were spotted by a pair of what looked to be  pretty  pre tty damn mean hobos, one of them pretty big. We We were were on a flat car, waiting for the new train to get underway, when the predators approached. The method they employed as robber-partners, robber-partners, was the big one o ne sat back and let the ‘brains’ do the talking, to size up what they weree faced with, and try and cre wer create ate an opening.  I realized realized the city kids I was with were clueless, clueless, and it boiled down to it’d be me would have to make the stand with no one having my back. It did not even cross my mind to grab my pack and bail, leaving the kids to fate.  As the hobos climbed onto the flat car from the one end, I  positioned myself at the center of the car, car, putting myself between the hobos and the kids, also strategically  positioned so if one or the other of the hobos tried to get around me at the kids, to one side or the other, other, the hobos would be at a disadvantage and in jeopardy of being  jettisoned from from the flat car, car, to either side. Thus  positioned, I took up a karate stance that was subtle, not obvious, and stood my ground. The big hobo sat at the  far end of the car and observed as the ‘brains’ probed my defense. The ‘brains’ had a very well rehearsed and hypnotic act that employed frenzied and non-sensical chatter accompanied by strange, rapid and contorted gestures with his hands, a sort of pre-Rap simulated

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methamphetamine hyper-pantomime in reality reality,, incorporated into a dance of sorts, and it was plain to  see his method was to distract by creating creating a sort of disbelief, disassociation or amazement at which point almost certainly a knife would manifest and be employed, he was pretty quick with his refle reflexes. xes. The big one seated behind him, seemingly was the pack mule and lookout, too slow to make a kill. If the bizarre biza rre dancing hobo could get past me, the kids could have been terrified into anything, in which case it would be all over for the girl, a life scarring scarrin g experience at the least. The ‘dancing hobo’ approached with rising intensity but  I gave no clue of being mesmerized and he would back off winding the dance down, all the while intensely  studying for any relaxation in my stance, stance, which he  sensed but did not appear to fully understand. Then he approached again with rising energy and I would show no reaction, never taking my eyes off of his. He backed away again. The he made one more effort, coming almost close enough to my initiating a Tae Tae Kwan Do move, I knew I was fast and pretty good, and fully intended he’d be  feeling the pain before before he’d landed on his head off the  flat car, car, but he sensed it and backed away and away  some more. more. Then, the hobos left. The kids never fully realized what had just gone down, they’d only seen a  gibberish-spewing idiot and had been relieved the big one had kept a little distance.

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 Now, Kerouac had got  Now, got my dander dander up a bit, his having having read a book by it’s cover, slandering Montana  particularly with with his character ‘Slim’, every state will will have its nuisance characters, and puts down the West generally by reducing our heritage to a farcical ‘Old West’ celebration at Cheyenne, Wyoming. He’d not realized this ostentatious and admittedly ridiculous event is not representative of our character, but is deliberately catering to tourists. Just as easily as not, it could be entrepreneurs from LA or the East coast exploiting opportunity, will be behind these celebrations designed to gouge the middle class on vacation and separate them from their cash. But I’m going to, mostly, let that slide, for now. now. I could go on about Kerouac multiplying his depleted $50 like fishes and loaves, but that’d be beating on a dead horse. Instead, I’ll correct the record regarding a prank he describes as victimizing ‘Montana Slim.’ This begins with his ‘lucky ride’ .. a flatbed truck has  picked up Kerouac, Kerouac, driven by a couple of of Minnesota farm boys headed west, and they’ve been sweeping up every hitch-hiker along their route. I’ve no problem with this, George and I had a similar experience on our trip south to Baja (more on that in a bit.) One of the characters he finds himself riding with on the flatbed is his ‘Montana Slim.’ Now, according to Kerouac, Slim had to piss and the boys in the cab were not stopping, so Slim scoots himself to the edge of the flatbed to sit and  piss off the the back end of the truck. No sooner sooner than Slim has his whang unleashed and is urinating, someone has

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knocked on the rear window of the flatbed’s cab, drawing attention to Slim’s act and (likely with hands imitating  being on a steering steering wheel) suggests suggests swerving the the truck  back and forth, forth, which in fact fact the driver precedes precedes to do. Slim has to fall onto his back to avoid going off the truck and is rolling side to side while (at this point probably involuntarily) involuntar ily) pissing and everyone else is dying laughing. I have a problem with this. Firstly, per the great Jim Croce’s lyrics ‘you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, don’t piss in the wind , you don’t take the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Slim’, there is no country boy in America who’d do that, because every one of us with an IQ of at least 70, and there could be such a thing as a country boy with an IQ of 170 (a frightening thought), would understand when you piss at high speed from the back of an open vehicle, your body creates a vacuum in the wind. Sit with legs off the left side of the flatbed and your piss will be fed into the vacuum spraying your left side, sit with legs off the right and the reverse is true. Now, sit with legs off the back of the flatbed in the wind at high speed and your piss will be spraying in your face. Kerouac pinning this act on ‘Montana Slim’ can’t hold up because only a city boy would be naïve enough to commit this act of foolishness and in Montana there is no such thing as a city boy per se. Montana does not have any cities, not even a full hand of fair sized or ‘large’ towns and I’ll name those it had in Kerouac’s day: Billings, Butte, Great Falls and Missoula. You could not  be from Montana Montana and not have have been exposed exposed to a country country  boy ‘education.’ ‘education.’

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Clearly, what has happened here is, Kerouac recounts a  prank that had had been pulled off by the country boy boy from Montana and Kerouac himself had been the victim. Slim had suggested to Kerouac pissing downwind off the end of the truck as the only possible option in a desperate to urinate circumstance, circumstance, I grew up with characters who’d suggest exactly that to the uninitiated, and Kerouac had  been desperate desperate enough to try try.. Henceforth, in any following chapter, we cannot believe a word Kerouac writes about Slim, Kerouac hated him. His (some would consider ‘just’) revenge, was to reverse the gullible party in the prank, to denigrate the Montana character as a fool in perpetuity, immortalized in print.  It was on I-5, near Roseberg, Oregon, Oregon, George George and I had hit our lucky ride south, taking us a LONG ways towards  Baja. A caravan of U-Haul rental rental trucks was approaching and the lead truck pulled out and over o ver for us. The men in the cab called out the window “Got a driver’s license?” We both replied Yes! And they’d said “You’re in, climb in the back!” We ran with our packs to the rear of the truck, the cargo door was retracted and locked in the open position and ther theree were another couple inside who explained what we were into. We were  part of a caravan of U-Hauls being gathered up from from rental re ntal agencies they’d been dropped at along the interstate and were being returned, to be redistributed to agencies in the greater Los Angeles region. The contractor heading up the operation was playing fast and loose with the rules .. and making a lot of money. The  scheme he’d implemented was to sweep up licensed

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hitch-hikers along the route, put them into driving shifts  so we could move the trucks south for him, all the while he was no doubt setting up a claim that would entail expenses covering having had to employ ‘short term’ contract drivers. When we stopped for fuel, or to pick up moree trucks for our growing convoy, mor convoy, we’d change drivers and have a ‘picnic’ break where he’d break out  sandwiches, chips and canned beverages like Pepsi and 7-Up. We We were all advised to pocket extra food and drink  for refreshment refreshment en-route, en-route, it was an ‘all you can eat affair.’ We made steady time to a large commercial U Haul yard yard in Orange County, County, south of LA, a big piece of our miles had been discharged, lots of road was behind us at one stroke of luck. My recollection is, this was my hitch-hiking distance record record single ride, of those days.  Now, a lovely seeming circumstance  Now, circumstance arose arose that caught me by surprise. Both B oth George and myself are veterans, George had been a heavy equipment operator for combat engineers in Vietnam. We might have looked like typical hippies in our twenties but really we were doing what we’d sorely wished we’d been doing at 19 years of age, instead of a combat zone. And we wer weree from Montana.  Now,, being from Montana, we have respect  Now respect for women,  something that is inculcated in authentic country boys, and it happened that’d been noticed by a single and very  pretty  pre tty brown-eyed brunette who’d been picked picked up by the U-Haul caravan. Having arrived at the U-Haul commercial commer cial truck yard ending the ride after dark, we all weree informed we could take shelter in the back of the wer trucks for the night and should clear out in the morning.

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The pretty little brunette maybe glanced around once, and then strode without hesitation direct directly ly over to me and pointed, while saying “That’s “That’s our truck.” My jaw did not drop, I was a good-looking kid in those days and I’d had my fair share. George George just walked away awa y shaking his head, plumb disgusted, his proble p roblem m was his likeness recalling re calling Irving’ I rving’ss description of Ichabod Ichab od Crane. Cra ne.  Now, once inside the truck with the girl, I do not recall  Now, her name, we sorted what was important in short order order.. She’d give herself to me if I insisted, but she’d prefer not to. I only held her, her, and was wa s privileged to do that, and we  slept through the night, no messing around. around. Come morning, she’d said to me, “you are really really cool.” George was beside himself, near green with envy and George  snapped over breakfast “you “you didn’t didn’t get any of that!” I kept my cards close to my chest, a smile was my only reply re ply.. I could tell it bugged him for days. But I also know if we’d been in reverse position, it’d have been the same outcome, we both have this thing, it’s called ‘ethics.’

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Chapter 5, all of 3 " pages, is hardly remarkable, a sort of ‘filler’ to bring Kerouac over to Denver following a drunken night in Cheyenne, where he’d finally passed out in a bus station. He forgives ‘Montana Slim’ (he kinda had to, considering the huge lie he’d told about Slim in the chapter preceding), preceding), his depleted $50 experiencess another night multiplying like loaves and experience fishes, as it dwindles at about " the rate it had ought to have been dwindling, considering his bar hopping and  partying, and and he shows no qualms qualms over having having tried to  pry a waitress away away from her boyfriend boyfriend for for a one night stand, and tried to convince another woman she had ought to take a perfect and stupidly drunk stranger from the east coast (himself) home across the plains in the middle of the night simply so he could screw her. To his credit, Kerouac admits she sneered at him. If Kerouac continues to mix with westerners without a competent  baby sitter, sitter, particularly with his ingrate’s ingrate’s attitude towards western women, he might need two or three guardian angels, just to stay alive.  I was ‘up the line’ at Hungry Horse, Montana, and tequila drunk on Cuervo Gold, to that point you puke,  pass out to semi-comatose state and the next day your liver will hurt. One of our local girls, I knew who she was but I did not really know her in any sense of acquainted, gathered me up, and took me home. She’d cleaned up my face, maneuvered me onto a bed, unbuttoned and removed my shirt and yanked off my trousers, covered covered me with a blanket and went off to sleep

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in her own bed. In the morning, I found a clean robe draped over the end of my bed, a note explaining she’d had to leave for work, I was welcome to use the shower, shower,  should fix myself some breakfast, breakfast, my clothes were were washed and in the dryer and to please lock the door behind me on my way out .. all to be taken as a humanitarian act.

One gets the impression in similar circumstance, Cassady and Ginsberg would have taken turns screwing me, while  passed out, and Kerouac would would have written about about it.  Now, about this point,  Now, point, I have an observation. observation. Kerouac Kerouac has a sort of ‘ethics free’ vain or narcissistic conscience, a weak ghost of empathy that only appreciates his self, and in a guilty way at a distance. It is a faint conscience. At Denver, Kerouac looks up ‘Chad King’ who in actuality is Haldon ‘Hal’ Chase. Other than being the critical character at the center of responsibility for getting Kerouac and Ginsberg acquainted with Cassady, Chase it would appear will be a bit player in Kerouac’s work and with good reason (I’ve not read ‘On the Road’ ahead of this narrative, taking it chapter by chapter without knowing what lies ahead, but I do a short research on the characters as they ‘enter the scene’), Chase is a Denver resident who’d not grown up an abused kid on skid row.  Now, when an honest  Now, honest westerner realizes realizes he has played a critical part in perpetrating a world-class fraud, he’ll  behave like Chase Chase had, later on. on. Some years after Chase had disavowed Kerouac, Ginsberg and Cassady altogether, Kerouac biographer (he’s had more than his

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share) Gerald Nicosia looked up Chase at home. Haldon ‘Hal’ Chase or ‘Chad King’ had subsequently run  Nicosia off, off, threatening him with a rifle. This is a straightforward straightforwa rd action you could believe in, attesting to the ‘veracity’ of the ‘Beat’ writers, by Chase. We’re about to meet Ginsberg and Cassady, and because authentic Rocky Mountain folk tend to call a spade a spade, no beating around the bush so to speak, let’s have a brief but honest glimpse at just what sort of characters Kerouac will be chronicling, in the coming chapters. Cassady ‘got his start in life’, eventually pointing to his  becoming Ginsberg’ Ginsberg’ss hero and a writer writer, at age 14, when his ‘mentor of promising but disadvantaged young men’  began butt-fucking butt-fucking him. him. By the time of Kerouac’ Kerouac’ss hooking up with these two ‘On the Road’ (in Denver) Cassady is already giving Ginsberg literal blow-jobs, something he would do for the next twenty years despite Cassady since having become married and having kids, and Ginsberg having acquired a “life-long” partner. This work is so patently founded on dishonest characters, and chronicled by their avid admirer and co-conspirator, I believe it will be safe to say [by the end of this work] there is nothing can ca n be believed be lieved AT AT ALL in relation relati on to anything written by Kerouac. Or for that matter, nothing can be believed as written by his ‘beat generation’ peers.

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Chapter 6 of ‘On the Road’, a whopping 2-2/3 pages, is an apologetic denial of reality. Its concluding sentence “But where was Dean?” is a disingenuous cover. Now, I understand the publishing house censors of the 1950s demanded cuts on account of the prevailing norms of that era (liability lawyers & criminal prosecutions) and demanded Kerouac clean up his manuscript, but somehow I doubt that is the case here, having just written off Chad King (Hal Chase) and as ‘class snobs’ for their clearing Cassidy and Ginsberg out of their lives, and while Kerouac’s a Chase guest at that, a sensible decision for responsible people facing reality and work every day. Kerouac, who only wants to party and screw, is not about to honestly state they’d made a sane decision on account of Cassidy and Ginsberg are in a persistent ‘69’ position of drug and alcohol enhanced reciprocal fellatio, when not frequenting the lower dens of Denver’s skid row. Cassady, to this time, likely has never worked a job honestly. Ginsberg would not know what hard manual labor even is. Kerouac’s mother has worked supporting him, and has done so for years into his ‘adulthood.’  I knew how to work. But I wasn’t wasn’t the best hard laborer laborer because I hated it. Sometimes I’d been fired and  sometimes I’d quit. At other times I’d toughed it out. At 12 years I began learning how to build fence and by 14  years I was using a 1880s’ fifty pound steel bar that was originally a railroad track tool, to open holes in rocky

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 soil, lifting and dropping the bar, bar, then working it back and forth as it penetrated deeper, deeper, preparing for driving dr iving  fence posts into the ground by hand, which I did as well.  I’d worked with other kids, harvesting the lodge-pole  pine that would be made into those fence posts. I’d known that old steel track tool so intimately, by the time of my adult years, I’d named it ‘Satan’s Cock.’  I’ve bucked 60 pound hay bales, along side a truck that it  seemed would never stop, through through a field where you’d have to run ahead and grab a bale, bring it close and heft it onto the truck for the stacker and run ahead again, all damn day. I’ve split ten cord of wood, by hand, in the  fall season, many a time. I’d built irrigation systems with a crew, when the old King Ranch outside Valier,  Montana, transitioned from cattle to agriculture. agriculture. I’ve been a cowboy, I’ve pulled ‘green chain’ at more than one sawmill, and that’ that’ss not all. At 5 foot 7 inches, and 150 pounds for most of my adult life, now 61 years old, I can still flex Popeye’s forearms.

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7

Moving into chapter 7, we catch Kerouac in a lie right off. Well, a dishonest insinuation actually. Having slammed his new host ‘Roland Major’, Major ’, actually Allen Allen Temko, in the first paragraph, no doubt because Temko is aligned with Hal Chase and Ed White in the developing Denver versus the frauds feud. In the second paragraph Kerouac goes on to blow hot air to Temko. The context insinuates Kerouac has intimate knowledge of the freights .. “.. I love the boxcars and I love to read the names on them like Missouri Pacific, Great Northern, Rock Island Line. By gad Major if I could tell you everything that had happened to me hitching here” .. when we know he’d never gotten any closer to the box cars than seeing them rolling along side the highways on his trip west. By his earlier admission, to Kerouac’s credit, he states he’d passed on any chance at hitching freights. But he might yet experience his infatuation in reality, as it’s certainly possible Cassady has ridden the trains and might introduce Kerouac to the experience. There is an interesting psychological psychological thread developing here. When denigrating Temko, Kerouac puts down Hemmingway Hemmingwa y and makes allusions to a sort of ‘Hemmingway-esque’ class snobbery lifestyle associated with Temko’s experiences in Europe. One must wonder if Kerouac’s disdain (to put it mildly) for Hemmingway is  based on jealousy jealousy and Hemmingway’ Hemmingway’ss authenticity of of

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experience (WWI, Spanish Civil War) versus Navy dropout Kerouac’s propensity to tell, if not in every case a self-aggrandizing lie, often the self-excusing falsehood. falsehood. The paradox here is, in his dishonest way, Kerouac is accurately portraying portraying how to live a dishonest life. Meanwhile, Ginsberg Ginsberg is instructing Cassady in the libertine philosophy of the male homosexua homosexuall and the wide-open promiscuity known in that community (despised by many lesbians) which Cassady is in turn applying to debauching Denver’s women. One gets Cassady is a natural heterosexual and would have remained straight, were it not for his age 14 years encounter with a ‘mentor of promising but disadvantaged young men.’ Under Ginsberg’s tutelage, Cassady is now cheating on his wife, as well as cheating on his girlfriend that he is cheating on his wife with, all the while concealing his  behaviors and and lying to every every one of them about his intentions, assured by Ginsberg this is real ‘freedom.’ In Ginsberg’s ‘ethics free’ version of essential sexual liberty, taught to and put into practice by Cassady, essentially the women are hustled with lies, and then absolutely screwed, and in every sense of the word. Kerouac wraps up chapter 7 with bringing an entourage of drunken, partying friends back to his ‘guest’ quarters after 3am and Temko had sensibly denied a wild party of carousing drunks entry to the apartment which in fact did

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not belong to him but to the family of Ed White; because the place most certainly would have been trashed.  I was at Crow Agency Agency,, Montana, for the Indian days celebration. ‘Crow Fair’ has a good go od pow-wow and an d I’d traveled down to take it all in with Blackfeet friends from  Browning. I’d played a little stick game, but was mostly taking in the dance at the arbor, there were Indians from tribes in every direction, had traveled to participate. The costumes were incredible, brilliant color, the drums and  singers were excellent in the northern and southern style.  After the dance had stopped for that evening, around midnight, not yet tir tired, ed, I’d wandere wandered d off into the  surrounding brush, deciding to check out ’49.’ This is an informal or ‘off the record’ pow-wow event (never advertised.) I was aware of it, but had never really experienced the native love music. I was standing back  from the young male dancers who, after the dance, had brought a drum, and were singing the love songs. Suddenly there was an absolutely gorge go rgeous ous young woman in traditional dance costume, walked directly up to me and stood tall, proud, looking me in the eye. I was caught flat-footed, a little panicked, I could not think what to do, I knew there was a proper Indian re response sponse but I could not come up with it, the right story. I was thinking like mad for several moments and she’d sh e’d walked away without ever uttering a word. And then I remembered:  In the Blackfoot oral history, history, there was a time when when women and men did d id not live together to gether,, but on opposite

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 sides of a valley, valley, separated by a river. river. Then, the Nin-nawa-ki (the Chief of the Women, Women, the highest form of  Blackfoot chief, woman or man) gathered the men men and lined them up and told the women to chose their husbands. The woman who wished to be married would walk up to the man she desire desired. d. If he h e followed her, her, they weree a couple.. wer  Like popping awake, I looked around to see which direction dire ction this beautiful woman had headed but did not  see her, her, already vanished vanished into the dark. An Indian  standing beside me had then said: “too late, she’s she’s gone.”

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8

Allan Temko confronts Cassady with “what’s this I hear you are sleeping with three girls at the same time?” .. Cassady looks down at the carpet with a sort of nervous foot-shuffle: “Oh yeah, that’s how it goes.” .. his innate  but dying Rocky Rocky Mountain cultural honesty honesty admits he’s he’s treating the women like dirt, his vanishing conscience conscience feels a faint twinge. Meanwhile Kerouac disses Temko’s  perception of of Cassady as a moron moron and a fool and and claims “of course he [Cassady] wasn’t.” Meanwhile, having set in motion divorcing his wife and  promising to marry the girl he’ he’ss been cheating with, he’s he’s continued to cheat on both his wife and girlfriend with a third girl (and certainly with Ginsberg as well), all the while under Ginsberg’s tutelage. A bit later on, at one of Cassady & Ginsberg’s ‘learning sessions’, Ginsberg  presses Cassady on his ‘honesty’ with Ginsberg Ginsberg over Cassady being into Ginsberg’s pocket for his money (the hypocrisy is indeed rich), at which point Kerouac [in this context] honestly observes honesty is beyond reach. Kerouac meant this observation in a macrocosmic way  but what is patently patently obvious is, Kerouac Kerouac does not not see  beyond his dishonest dishonest microcosmic microcosmic worldview worldview, and he misses the paradox he’s created for himself; honest admission of dishonest perception or alternately stated, subliminal confessions in dishonest chronicles. We had our dishonest folk. More often than not, n ot, they weree immigrants, and I’m not wer no t talking about Mexicans,

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but people from the city. city. Chuck was a good enough enou gh  seeming fellow, fellow, and you did not get the feeling he’d rip  you off, likely because he wouldn’t. wouldn’t. But there is such things as ‘degrees’ of dishonesty’ it would seem. Chuck had nearly gotten in over his head when he’d decided he could backpack the wilderness with George and myself.  In fact he WAS WAS in over his head, only reason he’d not been left to die on his own was, George and I didn’t didn’t want to be in a position of having to answer for it. So, the day had come we knew we had to get out, on account of a Spring storm and coming high water. We’d told Chuck we’d be hiking out that day, 30 miles. George and I took Chuck’ss pack, emptied it and divided the contents Chuck’ between us, so he’d be hiking with no weight at all. Sub point here being, being, if he’d quit, he’d have no survival gear, gear,  putting Chuck in a circumstance circumstance [in his mind] if he did not keep up, he’d damn certain die. But we [George and myself] kinda were of the opinion Chuck would die anyhow,, left on his own. And we hiked out, 30 miles that anyhow day.. Chuck never fell much more than a half-mile behind, day behind , and that’d be about the time George and I would take a break, bre ak, and when we could see Chuck coming up the trail, we’d resume marching, marching, we were brutal, but it was what it required to get out that day. Chuck made it.  A few weeks later, later, my dad approached me with a big  grin. Chuck’s Chuck’s and my dad were acquainted and Chuck’s Chuck’s dad had always felt his kid was a kind of hippie wuss. My dad had told me Chuck’s Chuck’s dad was beside himself with  glee over George George and myself had “hiked his kid’s kid’s ass off.” It was reported back [via my dad] Chuck had lain on the sofa at home and a nd moaned for a week. Now, Chuck could not brag his life achievement of a one-day 30 miles

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hike with two local, well known mountain-boy characters, at Columbia Falls, Montana, in any honest way.. It re way required quired returning returning to live in Riverside, R iverside, California, to live up to his heroic deed (in his mind.)

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9

In his ‘trek to the mountains’ chapter 10, Kerouac puts down the best party scene he’d been to, to now, because, it’d been hosted by the Denver partisans, in the ongoing feud with the Ginsberg fraud. He has what it would seem amounts to one hundred people cleaning up an old mining house, to party in, but can’t find a bed that isn’t choking with dust when he needs to pass out. Frat kids crash and ruined his party (I laughed at this) and all the girls bailed out and abandoned the scene. Bar hopping in the company of Denverites Ed White and Bob Burford, he projects what to certainly amounts to his own out of control and drunken behaviors onto Burford, throwing a whiskey in someone’s face for being an opera tenor, maybe it was Burford knocked someone cold, to keep them from killing the boorish Kerouac, and then no doubt it was Kerouac had called a waitress a whore (he  pins it on Burford) Burford) and White and Burford Burford get him out out the door alive before the ‘count of ten’ the locals had told Kerouac he’d best be out of sight or he would have, as we say in the Rocky Mountains, ‘had his clock cleaned.’ We can know Kerouac is pinning his own boorishness on the Denver Burford because we know Kerouac had already framed Montana Slim as the victim of the ‘pissing in the wind’ prank, his modus is to pin his own inadmissible behaviors behaviors on other people. This all points to the reality of cause or reasoning behind Hal Chase threatening Kerouac biographer biographer Nicosia with a rifle some years later, to make him go away.

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In all likelihood, Kerouac, who has a clown’s instinct that is actually pretty amazing, clearly takes opportun opportunity ity to frame his associations for his inadmissible experiences, and it is certainly possible ‘On the Road’ had been penned as a cartoon chronicle of sorts, a deliberate, dishonest lampoon of his experiences. It can’t hurt to point out here, Kerouac, who is living and  partying entirely entirely on his several several Denver host’s host’s dime, unbeknownst to them having already passed up opportunity at employment, preferring to avoid work and search out opportunities to party and screw instead, is giving a real middle finger to naturally generous folk who’re trying to show him the authentic side of the Rocky Mountain West character and provide Kerouac a contrast to Denver’s skid row dens, and associated denizens Cassady and Ginsberg, to write about. Kerouac could not fit this truth into his biographical endeavor, the fact he’d ultimately made a dissolute, cowardly and wrong choice of company he’d kept. As well, Kerouac can’t help but lie about the character of the  people’ss lives he writes about,  people’ about, in some cases destroying destroying reputations. With his Catholic guilt syndrome, there could be no confessional booth big enough or priest with a life long enough, to confess the entirety of his lying  behaviors, it is small small wonder he drank drank himself to death. death.  It was ‘up the line’ at Marten City, City, Montana, where a bar  fight of legend broke out. The setting setting was the “Deer Lick Saloon” and it entailed a local rivalry, of sorts, or  perhaps better said, an ignorant misapprehension misapprehension of reality re ality.. Loggers are of a peculiar sort, never much

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venturing out of the woods, or so it would seem. Not that they’d entirely a limited world-view. Now, before the advent of hippies in this world, we had some pretty cool red-necks. re d-necks. They did not refer to Gays as ‘queers’, ‘qu eers’, rather using the more polite euphemism ‘greek.’ This points to a well read red-neck red-neck in the subject of history and a nd I think wheree things went wrong was, the time came along when wher classical music could no longer be called ‘long-haired’ ‘ long-haired’ music after the portraits of composers, without raising the specter of Ginsberg, homosexuality and fre freee love, rather than a discreet ‘greek’ conductor, and it pissed them off as a class. The re red-necks d-necks could no longer enjoy  symphony orchestra, orchestra, Alan Ginsberg Ginsberg having poisoned everything that come to mind, and that ended the more tolerant ‘greek.’ All this came to a head one day at the  Deer Lick Saloon, when a drunk logger mistook some local, long-haired, mountain boys for hippies, or maybe  just wanted a fight, and called them a bunch of queers.  It happened fast, there was no build-up at all to the fullblown riot that ensued, fists were flying along with bar  stools tossed through the air in the general direction direction of opposing sides, and the group of loggers had their hands  full with a bunch of long-haired, hay bale bucking, green green chain raw lumber pulling, every bit as strong, tough-asnails country kids, and the Deer Lick Saloon was going to be destroyed in short order, there was no doubt.  I’d have never believed, ever, ever, that I’d be playing skiprope in a bar fight but that is exactly what I found myself doing, except it was ‘skip-leg’ when a one legged old timer had been knocked off his bar stool in the chaos, landed on the floor and his fake leg had come off. With

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his back against the bar, bar, he had his own foot by the ankle with both hands and was swinging his fake leg at anyone in range, purely survival driven I suppose. I was  surrounded on three three sides by fist-fights, boxed in, and had to jump his leg again and again, to avoid being  struck, as he swung his fake leg back and forth in an arc.  About this time the owner of the saloon had brought out a large caliber handgun, a 44 Magnum, and began firing  shots into the ceiling, to get people’s people’s attention and break up the bar fight. Twice Twice we all heard BOOM! BOOM! .. and suddenly it was the folk proverb ‘all you could see was assholes and elbows’ as people tried to clear out of the place, not knowing what was up, only that someone had pulled a gun and was shooting. There were too many  people to go out the two saloon doors fast enough .. you could hear the large plate glass break as chairs went through windows to open escape routes.

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10

When Kerouac gets back to Denver, he meets up with Ginsberg and claims Ginsberg tells him that he [Ginsberg] [Ginsber g] had been in Central City with Cassady and  bar hopping hopping at that. Not mentioned mentioned is how Ginsberg Ginsberg and and Cassady had gotten themselves to Central City but Ginsberg tells Kerouac that Cassady had stolen a car, to get the two of them back to Denver. Now, this is an unlikely tale. By the era of Kerouac’s party adventure to Central City, Colorado, the town’s population had fallen to several hundred people. I supposed if you’d had every resident in town out partying, plus every tourist leaving their kids un-minded to do the same, it MIGHT be  possible Kerouac Kerouac would not have have encountered encountered or noticed noticed or heard about the odd couple/flamboyant Ginsberg with side-kick Cassady in the town’s handful of bars. More likely, Kerouac was feeling like persona-non-grata in relation to his hosts Ed White and Bob Burford  particularly,, was afraid to ride  particularly ride back to Denver Denver with them. Also he’d certainly made enemies of some of the locals with his behaviors. Probably he’d called Ginsberg and Cassady, asking them to find a way to rescue him from Central City, because of town folk he’d been a perfect  boor to, now looking for him him with an eye to kick his ass, as well perhaps fearing the ride back with Burford  particularly.. Cassady had stolen  particularly stolen a car and Ginsberg Ginsberg rode rode along to fetch Kerouac back to Denver. This thought would be buttressed by Kerouac at this point plans  bailing out of of his Denver hospitality hospitality,, and his burning burning

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desire to get out of town. He’s running scared and needs to put some distance, let things cool off. But Kerouac can’t leave Denver because he’s broke, so he airmails his mom a request for $50 and soon we’ll be  back to his multiplying multiplying money money like fishes and loaves. Meanwhile, the cad Kerouac has screwed a young local he describes as “a little girl, simple and true, and tremendously frightened of sex.” More likely, she was tremendously frightened of Kerouac and that’s why she gave herself up to him. Then, Kerouac’s Kerouac’s weak Catholic conscience pricks him and he wonders “what God had wrought when He made life so sad.” I’d have wondered ‘what god had wrought’ when ‘he’ made sorry-ass characters like Kerouac, Cassady and Ginsberg.  I can’t can’t be proud of everything everything I’ve done, but some people can grow up and correct themselves. I’d stolen cars to  joyride, and so had other kids I knew. knew. More often often than not, we were not caught. The kid closest to Cassady Ca ssady,, that  I’d known, was Dusty from Livingston, Montana. I doubt he’d ever been butt-fucked by a ‘mentor of promising but disadvantaged young men’ because he’d never looked at me with that gaze of a ‘peculiar’ predator, or made any  pass suggesting homosexuality, homosexuality, but Dusty had been disadvantaged, for certain. More or less an orphan, likely on account of alcoholic parents, Dusty had been neglected for years as a child, he had issues on account of it, was toughened up by his associations in the near to  Livingston and notoriously rough town of Butte, prior to relatives re latives taking him in ‘up the line’ at Coram, Montana. Montana . I was a Coram kid, our family lived at an old homestead in

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a then 70 years old log house less than a mile through the woods from Coram, farther if you walked the road.  It happened both Dusty and I were in hot water, water, Dusty likely for his penchant for committing robberies, he never really re ally said why he’d a sudden case of ‘cold feet’, but he was itching to get out of town and fast at that. I was into trouble over a relationship with a 16 years old local girl,  she was willing, and I’ll leave it at that. We We split town together and went to Livingston, wher wheree we’d caught a  freight  fre ight train east, on the run. We We jumped off at  Dickenson, North Dakota, and it seemed the most forlorn  place on Earth. Having gone to the local skid row ‘mission’, we were issued a voucher, voucher, good for a meal at the local truck-stop café. The food was tremendous at the  start of the meal but both of us had slowed down our eating by time it was " consumed, and Dusty had said “notice how good it was when you were really really hungry and now it is getting kinda hard hard to stomach?” His  statement was absolutely true, the chicken fried steaks were terrible, as though the café had been authorized to  feed folk with a ‘voucher’ freeze freezer-burned r-burned food. After, After, looking out at the desolation that passes for a town in  North Dakota, we looked at each other and walked back to the freights, to hitch a train returning to Livingston.  At Livingston, Dusty had parked me at his ‘safe’ house and told me to wait, that he’d be back. Several hours later he’d returned with over $200, a lot of money to us, in those days. We We bought proper train tickets, from Butte to Seattle, drank a few shots in the club car during the trip and then got a room on the skid-row skid-row.. I went looking  for a job while Dusty proceeded proceeded to try and make it as a

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hustler in a local pool hall but was taken by a better  shark, who’d whipped him fair and square, that’d been ok but the local shark had made a near fatal mistake and insulted Dusty on top of taking ta king all his money. The next day, Dusty caught the guy in the elevator and with doorclose button, up button, down button, beat him senseless. Out and about, I’d gone looking for Dusty and came to the pool hall and saw what looked like the grime of decades had been cleaned up from the floor of the elevator,, someone had cleaned up the blood. Back at the elevator room, Dusty was there, he told me what had ha d happened, we had to leave, fast, and we were broke broke again. We’d walked out of the downtown area of Seattle, to one of the suburbs, and the next day I knocked on a Catholic rectory re ctory door, door, to ask if the priest was wa s in and if we could be  given a little something to eat. The high school girl who answered answere d my knock said the priest was wa s not in, but she was pretty and I stayed on o n a few minutes to talk with her her,, told her we were sleeping in a sawdust pit at the nearby  school, if the priest would like to send something over for us to eat. The next morning, this pretty girl woke me with a touch, looking like a frightened deer, deer, Dusty and I had buried ourselves in the sawdust to stay warm, only our heads showing and were sound asleep. as leep. The girl’s girl’s father was a deacon at the churc church h and he’d sent her to wake us and bring us home for bre breakfast, akfast, he took his Christian  faith in a genuine way. way. Then, after we’d put on our very best and sincerely grateful country manners for this event and explained our predicament in a highly selfcensored censor ed way, way, not wishing wishin g to freak this kind family out, we were surprised with being told we could have a spare basement room their house while looking for work.

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 Deep under it all, Dusty remember remembered ed his roots. After breakfast, bre akfast, and with a chance to speak alone, Dusty had told me “Ron, these are really really decent people and I want nothing to do with it. You’ve You’ve been a good friend, no one could ask for better better.. But I have to cut you loose, you’re too decent to be my partner. You stay here and find a job and best of luck to you.” Dusty had then left and I never  saw him again. Maybe I wasn’t wasn’t as decent as Dusty made it sound, but by comparison, perhaps he was right. I’d  stolen cars, but I could not bring myself to commit robberies or engage in wanton acts of violence.  I got a job at ‘Gil’s ‘Gil’s Burgers’ and picked up a second shift working at the Kentucky Fried Chicken next to Gil’ Gil’ss at the top of the hill, when you’ve come across the bridge into West West Seattle. Across the road was a used car sales lot. I’d bought a $100 car from a private party with my  first pay-check, figuring I would live in it, move on and  get out of where I was staying, to stop being a pain to  patient and kind people, I’d had a truly sweet lips to lips encounter with their virgin daughter by this time and was  feeling like an ass. She’d need me to make love to her like she’d want to fall into an open sewer, sewer, was my feeling and I wanted away before that became reality with all its  possible complications. But my car’s car’s engine promptly blew up. With With my next pay check cashed and money in my pocket, I went across the street street to the used car lot, not to buy one, but to steal a car, car, at 4 am and get out of Seattle, headed nowhere in particular, particular, just out of town. I wanted away from the entire circumstance circumstance and there was damn certain no way I’d want to keep working at fast  food joints in the city, city, the very thought was nauseating.

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 I jimmied the door- lock in no time, pushed the car, car, an easy to hotwire h otwire older Chevy, Chevy, into the street, jumped in and coasted it down the hill to a turn under a bridge where I’d take my time to hotwire it, a clean job that was not obvious, was my plan. Everything went smoothly until I had it hotwir ho twired ed and the car would not start, the  gauges came alive and there there was no fuel in the tank! I cleaned up my fingerprints and left, daybre d aybreak ak was coming. I could not bring myself to walk back to the house and face the people who’d given me a real break and I was faking it. I thought it all through, how everything was bothering me, while walking, and figure figured d  I didn’t didn’t desire go the criminal criminal direction direction and needed to change tact. I simply did not like the path I was on. That was the last car I’d ever stolen. I was 18 years old. Walking across the bridge and into downtown Seattle while the sun was rising, I had a bite to eat, then volunteered volunteer ed for the draft at the US Army recruiting office later in the day, my room and board was resolved.

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11

My chapter 11 first impression is, Kerouac displays ignorance of the local culture now that he has made it to San Francisco and calls it ‘Frisco.’ To locals from the ‘Bay Area’, San Francisco is known precisely as “San Francisco” or “The City.” Having hooked up with Frenchman Henri Cru (Cru’s book alias or fictional character is Remi Boncoeur) and working a security job together, Kerouac displays good sense in his handling of Okinawa bound migrant workers during their drunken  bouts at the barracks barracks he is responsible responsible for, for, criticizes Cru for scheming to steal from them, but then helps Cru  burglarize  burg larize a cafeteria they should be guarding. In two  pages time (chapter (chapter 11 11 is a real chapter, chapter, not a snippet story) Kerouac had been sneaking a view of Cru’s naked girlfriend sunbathing but in his Benzedrine psychosis while writing, has already forgotten and states: “I kept my promise to Remi [Henri Cru] and averted my eyes.” During this several weeks period he’s employed, Kerouac claims he’d sent forty dollars every week to his mom. If this is true, the only question is not whether, but only the extent to which he’d subsidized this largesse, by engaging in petty crime. Kerouac burns his bridges behind him with Henri Cru, one wonders how many of his own miscreant deeds Kerouac projects onto a man who, by Kerouac’s admission, would have nothing to do with him for years.

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He then conjures up Allan Temko from nowhere and pins a consistent theme of what can only be his own  boorishness on on someone he does does not like (too (too many other folk are behaving like a cloned personality ‘B’ jerk, when Kerouac’s been heavily drinking), getting thrown out of a fine restaurant, to close out chapter 11. Our Rocky Mountain’s grandfathers were the peer  generation of Kid Curry, Curry, and a frontier legacy of bad men/outlaws does not disappear in a generation. I’d known plenty of kids who’d committed criminal acts and in our territory, territory, more than just a handful had wanted to  give our outlaw legacy a try, try, at least once. Consequently, Consequently, when planning a robbery robbery,, they did not mess around.  Like the time a few of our local boys hijacked a fork lift  from the adjacent saw mill, and then drove it over to and through the large large plate glass window at the B & B department store at Columbia Falls, Montana. Using the machine to remove the locked office door, in short order they’d lifted the shopping shop ping center’ center ’s safe and driven it back out, into the parking lot, the safe was dropped into the back of a pick-up truck, where they’d abandoned the fork lift and made their get-away. All this happened within a  few minutes time and only a few blocks from from the police department..

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12

In chapter 12 Kerouc typically wilts again in difficult circumstance, when leaving burned bridges behind, hitch-hiking hitch-hikin g away from San Francisco. He takes the inland route via Fresno and stuck in Bakersfield, catches a bus to LA. He meets and hustles a Mexican girl on the run from an abusive husband and lands her in a motel in Los Angeles where he gets laid and makes plans with her he has to know are phony, she is looking for stability, he will tell her any story to keep getting laid. The lies are patently obvious. If he were headed to Texas as stated, he’d not have detoured to LA by catching a bus from Bakersfield. The direct route is south (and best shot at a short route from truckers) via Tehachapi and beyond and then east. I’ve hitch-hiked the same country and driven it as well.  If the were such a thing as ‘down the line’, the toe would be the Blue Moon tavern close to the Stoltz sawmill just outside Columbia Falls on the Road to Whitefish. I’d been drinking there with a Chippewa friend, ‘Bugs.’ We weree relieving ourselves at the urinals when a tall wer redneck re dneck type looked out through his drunken haze and queried Bugs, “What are you, a Mexican?” He was just being stupidly curious, we’d Mexicans in the neighborhood as well. Bugs reply was “I’m the meanest  fucking Indian you’ll ever meet” which served its  purpose and the guy shut up and left us alone. I knew  Mexicans and Indians, and it was no big deal. There was

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more natural social tension between the rednecks and more longhairs than between races in our neighborhood.  But we were all country people and had more in common than not, and one thing we had in common was a sort of extreme extr eme native humor humor.. Like the longhair who’d normally n ormally have nothing to do with chicken fighting until nature delivered deliver ed into his flock a homosexual rapist ra pist rooster and he began scheming right away, thinking how he could humiliate rednecks that enjoyed cock-fighting by  springing a pervert-chicken on them by surprise.  By all accounts the rapist-chicken would be a formidable  foe in any chicken fight. This chicken had been observed to have a sort of ‘mesmerizing’ look of a killer when he’d approach the other rooster who’d be flustered by the  pervert chicken’s chicken’s movement away from from any frontal frontal confrontation, not running away away,, but circ circling ling his opponent to get behind. Always seeking approach from the rear, there being no honest face to face fighting intention, about the time the opposing chicken expecting a normal fight would begin an opposite turn to meet the  pervert’ss expected attack, he’d made a fatal mistake,  pervert’ quick as a snake can strike, the rapist rooster would leap, beak snagging neck feathers from behind, and be on the unsuspecting rooster’s rooster’s back and a nd fuck his adversary just as though it were a hen. The raped rooster would then just lay there with a dying squawk, prec precisely isely as though it’d been killed as opposed to screwed. This last phenomena particularly suggested a clear victory in the imagined fighting ring, how would the

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rednecks be able to admit anything other than their rednecks  straight chicken had been whipped, fair and square? Well, the problem was, chicken fighting was never a big deal in our are area a of Montana, Montana , and he wouldn’ wouldn’tt raise enough betting money from the rednecks rednecks to make any  such endeavor worth the risk involved, plus the pervertrapist rooster’s rooster’s owner knew that by springing any such  surprise, he’d likely not escape the event alive short of employing a sub-machine s ub-machine gun. A trivia note, the rooster’ rooster’ss name happened to be Jack..

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13

Kerouac may be a gifted story-teller, however the key here is ‘story.’ As sick as I am of picking through his lies, I have to resign myself to it, because we are only approaching approachin g the close of part one, in what is a five-part work. It’d be nice if I were able to simply enjoy the flow of his writing, as so many have, but as the Blues Brothers had noted, ‘this is a mission from god’ (note the small g.) In chapter 13 there appears to be no threatening witness lurking with the possibility of blowing the whistle on Kerouac in his 2 weeks love adventure with Bea Franco [‘Terry’ in the book] and he fails to pin any truly boorish  behaviors on on a single soul. No parties parties such as Burford Burford or Temko to call his BS for what it is and no need for preemptive attacks on peoples character accordingly. Perhaps Kerouac had actually found his ‘people’ and  behaved well well throughout throughout this episode, in which which case he should never have left. But it jumps out he asks his mom for fifty dollars [thirty pieces of silver] to get him out of the circumstance, rather than applying the funds to get himself and Bea Franco set up to make a go of it together or keep any of his promises/plans he’d lavished on this migrant labor associated woman; pointing to his merely lying to get laid. He tells Bea goodbye and then collects his mom’s money that’d been wired to him and splits. There is a truly pathetic side to Kerouac, one can only surmise any reason behind his running away from making intelligent, life fulfilling decisions or acquiring

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self-evident truth as a person. My instincts tell me this has to do with his patent closet homosexuality, a thing Kerouac certainly will never come to terms with. In my actual acquaintanc acquaintances es with male homosexuals, and it is not as wide experience such as you’d know from circulating in a gay community and therefore not definitive, I’ve repeatedly encountered denial mechanisms (liars) among the men. Not in every case,  but more often often than not. Very interestingly, interestingly, precisely the opposite has been my experience with lesbians. Among Among lesbians, I have several very close and trusted friends who live by values demanding ethics and core honest  behaviors. By contrast contrast I have one one close gay male male friend and it has taken years for me to learn to trust him. Why? Because of the individual gay male behaviors per se, those I have experienced experienced.. Assessing Kerouac, my guess would be, like Cassady, Kerouac was a natural heterosexual orientation male whose behaviors had been modified in his formative years by a predator, in Kerouac’s case, most likely a pedophile Catholic priest. Kerouac impresses as a closet gay of that sort which had  been created through a predator’ predator’ss abuse, not via a natural natural homosexuall orientation which I am firmly convinced is homosexua  produced in nature, is not against against ‘god’ and is best described as ‘it is what it is’ as in ‘life is a paradox.’ So, what is the point of insisting on artificial values, violently imposing monotheism’s social will to the contrary? Nature is way smarter than people. But Kerouac is completely hung up in his social-religiou social-religiouss

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conflict, he has been shaped by a patently misogynist hierarchy, the Catholic Church, his mother is a long suffering saint to whom he can pray to for money at will, he’ll never amount to anything (in his mind) without his  priest’ss blessing but he cannot  priest’ cannot actually trust a priest, ever, so he substitutes his fraternity brothers approval (Cassady, Ginsberg) instead. He will remain a closet gay. The man is a typical church production, in effect, a confused (inculcated by religion) misogynist with instilled un-natural (as opposed to nature’s produced spontaneous-natural) spontaneou s-natural) homosexuality he will never  become comfortable comfortable with, in effect a perfect perfect Roman Catholic Church wrecking-ball victim embodied with a naturally gifted mind. He will never know peace, normalcy or allow himself a fulfilling life with a woman he actually would become capable of loving.  I’m the only person I’m aware of, that could honestly  state they’d had a ‘queer chicken’ dinner dinner.. Living in the country and raising chickens for both eggs and meat, and having grown up observing the same in my parent’s time,  I know that roosters raised together typically will not  fight, let alone rape each other. other. So, when the pervertrapist rooster had manifest, it was plainly an anomaly anomaly..  I thought about it, dropped the mean but entertaining  fantasy of introducing the bird bird to a redneck cock-fight, and not being a homophobe, h omophobe, figured eating the queer chicken would not somehow threaten my orientation. So, the chicken’s chicken’s head came off. That was something like 15 15  years ago. I’d only recently named named the chicken Jack.

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14

Kerouac gives an eloquent description of his bus ride  back across the USA (on his mom’ mom’s fifty dollars), demonstrates an awareness of American history, feels terribly sorry for himself (whines) while a little hungry and having to hitch-hike the last 300 miles home.

End of Part One

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Part Two 1

Let the lies begin (again.) Kerouac has finished a manuscript (with his mom looking over his shoulder, no doubt) in the past year at home. It is the end of 1948. Cassady rolls back into Kerouac’s life together with his wife LuAnn Henderson (‘Marylou’ in the book) and ‘along for the ride’ Al Hinkle (‘Ed Dunkle’) in a brand new Hudson. At first glance it would seem Cassady is still married to Henderson, his cheating with 2 other women, one (Carolyn Robinson, ‘Camille’ in the book) he has  promised to marry marry (and had had been making making love with Ginsberg, who is advising him on these matters throughout), througho ut), the divorce talk of a year ago, all this appears to have been put on ‘hold.’ But it is all very much more complicated and criminal as one reads on.. Kerouac asks Cassady where he come up with a new car and Cassady claims he’s paid cash for the car, having made $400 a month over the past year working for the railroad. A basic new Hudson in the 1949 model year costs over $2,000 and an unskilled railroad worker makes less than $1.50 per hour, do the math. If we made Cassady a ‘brakeman’ (his later in real life job), earning a  bit over $200 $200 a month in base base salary, salary, the numbers still won’t add up, considering his penchant for partying, not to mention having to eat and maintain a roof overhead.

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Unless, of course, he has actually acquired the new car through financing and now will be running off with the car without paying for it, stiffing the bank. Alternatively, the car perhaps has been paid for with  proceeds stemming stemming from some some criminal enterprise. enterprise. This This thought is buttressed in the following pages of part two, chapter one, when it turns out actually Cassady has abandoned Robinson and their new infant, apparently in  big hurry to leave San Francisco, Francisco, meanwhile Hinkle Hinkle has hustled his girl into coming along for the ride because she has some money, Cassady picks up first wife Henderson in Denver along the way, convincing her everything has been a mistake, and they abandon Hinkle’s girl at a hotel in Tucson without a dime or so much as letting her know she is about to be dumped out of the picture. By the time they’ve arrived on the east coast and picked up Kerouac, Cassady is behaving like a speed freak (likely Benzedrine), with telling behaviors clearly indicating more than a hyper-nervous felon on the run. Having driven pretty much non-stop in a mad, speeding (or ‘speed’) journey across the country, this is the freak show Kerouac will now proudly join and  pursue with his his chronicles.  I’d just returned from from a journey of madness to Egypt,  India and Nepal. It was winter in Montana and Freda’s Freda’s  Bar in West West Glacier had already already been long closed for the  season. Not wanting to adjust to a Montana winter, winter, just returned from the ‘Yin and Yang’ café in Katmandu, where I’d actually found a pack of authentic ‘made in the USA’ Camel non-filter cigarettes, an amazing score, better than hashish in my thinking, I packed up my VW

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bug, collected a Chippewa friend, Dave, with nothing better to do, and we headed west and then south. First we drove out to Seattle and went up the Space Needle  just to have had the experience, and then drove drove down the coast. Cutting inland from the Bay Area, Area, we unwittingly retraced Kerouac’s route, out of San Francisco.  Not turning towards LA after Bakersfield, but continuing  south towards and beyond Tehachapi Tehachapi towards Blythe (Kerouac’s more sensible route if he’d not lied about the circumstance surrounding his bus trip and hustling Bea  Franco), we were driving through through the Mojave Desert in the middle of the night under a starry sky in December December.. Of the three hallucinogens I’d experimented with more or less extensively, extensively, Psilocybin, Mescaline and a nd LSD (and never having had a bad ‘trip’ ‘trip ’ with any of them),  Psilocybin was my hands down favorite. We’d We’d been driving straight through and I had a supply of Psilocybin on hand, to stay awake, a wake, by far preferable to any of the amphetamines. With Psilocybin, you can ‘graduate’ the level of the drug based on consumption, and your state of consciousness as well, from merely ‘alert’ to full-blown ‘cartoon.’ We’d been lightly nibbling the stuff, time to time, over the hours, I was mesmerized to the tuned VW engine in the desert night at 55 mph, Dave was mildly high and zoned on music with a set of head phones.  Now, in this state of awareness, the most logical  Now, decisions can go wrong and descend into spontaneous cartoon madness, and we experienced one of these events, when I’d decided to have a snack while at the wheel. Not wishing to disturb Dave, I’d reached between

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and behind the bucket seats of the little bug, into a  groceries  groce ries sack and felt around for something to eat. I came up with a jar of feta cheese in brine and decided to have at it. Placing the jar between my knees and clamping it there with leg pressure, pressure, minding to keep my eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, with my other hand I’d I’ d unscrewed the jar’ jar ’s lid. What happened next, was pretty bad. The old VW bugs have a floor level heater vent close behind to where the left foot rests while cruising, it was cold out and the air cooled engine’ engine’ss heater was on full blast. The feta cheese jar slipped from between my knees when the lid came free, the jar was full to the top with brine and as it happened, hap pened, the jar dropped and landed on its side in such a way wa y most the brine had poured direct into the heater vent and instantly the little car was filled with a STRONG aroma, closely resembling resembling puke.  Having been through through a war and many back alleys in the 3rd  world, I have a pret pretty ty strong stomach, plus I had the cognitive understanding the source of the aroma was actually NOT puke but Dave was caught unawares, his headphone came ripping off, eyes bulging and his gag reflex re flex was set off o ff like crazy, not cognizant of what’d happened. “DAVE! DO NOT PUKE IN THE CAR! Was my instant shouted reac reaction, tion, Dave rolled down his window, stuck his head outside but the initial look on his  face had me in hysterics, no cartoonist could draw it without winning a Pulitzer Prize. What happened next is priceless.

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 Dave could not keep his head out the window for more than a few moments because at 55 mph, 28 degrees  Fahrenheit wind turns your entire entire head into the excruciating pain resembling ice-cold water on a bad tooth. Dave would involuntarily have to bring his head back in with its incredible expression expression of ‘what ‘wha t is happening’ combined with the most realistic desperation  I’d ever seen on any man’s man’s face, his gag reflex reflex would set off again, I would repeat, having to force it out while laughing “DAVE! DO NOT PUKE IN THE CAR! Dave’s head would go back out the window, window, and it all kept cycling in animated cartoon that had me somewhere near one hair short of helpless with hysterics, trying not to pee myself, all the while keeping a steady clip of 55 mph.  At long last the gods had pitied Dave, as it dawned on my hallucinogen warped mentality I could pull p ull over to the side of the road and stop, whereupon Dave had instantly leaped out of the car and I became a helpless bag of dissolving, laughing hysteria behind the wheel..  Dave’s cognitive dissonance must have been incredible,  Dave’s incredible, his subliminal reflex acting on primitive instinct when one pukes, everyone should puke, likely an evolutionary hand-me-down from ancient hominids having experienced eating bad carrion, but he can cognitively  see I am not puking, and am telling him NOT to puke in the car (where instinct tells him puking p uking has occurred.)

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2

I could get fifty suppositions wrong and still accurately nail the gist of these characters criminality. Not even a full page into chapter 2 and BINGO! My assessment in the preceding chapter had nailed it. I’d written (patting myself on the back here) “Unless, of course, he has actually acquired the new car through financing and now will be running off with the car without paying for it, stiffing the bank.” Kerouac states: “It was a brand new car bought five days ago, and already it was broken. There was only one installment paid paid on it, too.” too.” So the ‘paid cash’ claim for the car has suddenly died. There cannot be any question now, despite Kerouac’s Benzedrine induced writing psychosis, he’d been aware he is embarking on an adventure underwritten by fraud. And then, there is this INCREDIBLY INTERESTING quote from this book (Penquin Modern Classics 2000 [British] edition, page 106) written sixty years ago .. Kerouac attributes to Cassady: “Dean [Neil Cassady] had a sweater wrapped around his ears to keep warm. He said we were a band of Arabs coming in to blow up New York.”  Now, I understand amphetamine  Now, amphetamine freaks freaks live in a state of of  paranoid psychosis, psychosis, but I think think this is incredibly  prescient. Without question, question, in the coming chapters chapters the Henderson chick will morph into former FBI Agent

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Colleen Rowley who’d passed information on the 9/11 hijackers via official channels and the information was suppressed in the weeks prior to the Twin Towers being hit, Cassady will turn out to be Rudy Guiliani whose command central was obliterated in a professional, controlled implosion [demolition] as clearly documente documented d  by rememberbuilding7 rememberbuilding7.org, .org, Kerouac Kerouac is in actuality Godfather George H.W. Bush of the “Family” Harper’s Magazine investigative reporter Jeff Sharlet has written about, and Ginsberg will turn out to be Bibi Netanyahu converted to life of crime by the paranoid-fascistMOSSAD-penetrated-CIA-fo MOSSAD-pene trated-CIA-founded-Christia unded-Christian n evangelical/oxymoron evangelical/o xymoron organization organization ‘Jews for Jesus’, all working behind the scene to open every possible avenue for a crew of duped Arabs who resembled nothing so much as Disney’s ‘The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight’, framing the Muslim world for 9/11 via a double false flag event meant to consolidate a police state, have the USA fight Israel’s wars by proxy (MOSSAD) and in the process initiate a Biblical Armageddon prophecy based new era of Christian Crusades (CIA.) Kerouac is writing MAD Magazine’s comic strip ‘Spy versus Spy’, on steroids. Uh, let’s forget this immediately preceding, it is the characters in ‘On the Road’, are actual paranoid psychosis amphetamine amphetamine freaks, freaks, and I digress: George Carlin: Hey Lenny George Lenny,, have you seen Jesus? I've got a question for him.  Lenny Bruce: He’s He’s never here on weekends, he ALW ALWAYS  goes to the Parallel Universe of Tikkun Tikkun Olam

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George: Geor ge: Why is that?  Lenny: Quantum Mechanics and Communion, every Sunday he’d get all sorts of afflictions if he stuck around,  you know, know, the ‘creating ‘creating reality’ thing. George: Geor ge: There has to be a joke in this, right?  Lenny: It’s It’s actually worse than you’d want to think, since the evangelists put words in his mouth to eat Jesus' body and drink his blood, the liberal Christians give him hives and if that wer weren’ en’tt bad enough, enoug h, then you’ve got the rightwing pinheads coming down with this cannibal smack, oops, I meant snack .. all taking a bite out of him, the ultra-right parasite Catholics give him ringworm, the  fascist parasitic Protestants give him scabies. George: Geor ge: Rosicrucians? R osicrucians?  Lenny: Rosacia! George: Holy fuck, no wonder he bails out of the heavens on weekends..  Lenny: Yeah, Yeah, it’s it’s like why I left Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Hasidics and little boy butt-fuckery .. all these guys looking loo king like  Bavarians in bowler hats with pig-tails in the wrong  places, I mean c’mon, wherever wherever you see anything like that, you know something is perverted.

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George: Well, George: Well, I was going to ask him a question, maybe  you can help me out. What is up with this ‘Jews for  Jesus’ thing?  Lenny: You You mean Jews for Jewdas? I mean, here are are right-wing evangelical Jews praying like Pentecostals for the Jews to be destroy destroyed ed so they can rebuild the Jewish temple in Jerusalem, call it Christian and get Jesus back .. where’s the sense in that? George: Well, I was wondering about the ‘makes sense’  part .. I mean, here are are Jews trying to covert people into right-wing Christians, and it was right-wing Christians had stamped out six million Jews alre a lready ady .. I’d run across this blog “These Jews need Jesus” .. there’s a joke in there somewhere, right?  Lenny: Oh yeah, imagine sending a bunch of homosexual-pedophile Hasidic Jews to a straight Puritan chapter of Heaven where no kids are a re allowed, there’d there’d be a serious riot. As if the fascist Puritans wanted to be outed as well, the schumks! George: Actually, that’s a GREAT idea.. uh.. Lenny, how many times were you arrested?

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3

Chapter 3 opens with a phone call from Helen Hinkle (‘Galatea Dunkel’ in the book) who had found her way to William Burroughs place in New Orleans, the woman Al Hinkle has married for her money and then had been dumped in Tucson, broke. The woman is described as a “tenacious loser” and Al Hinkle as “an angel of a man, actually.” The Hinkle woman is trying to track her ‘husband’ down and Al Hinkle has a “worried look.” Meanwhile, Robinson, the abandoned mother of Cassady’s new infant has called as well. The woman that is present, Henderson, is good for making out, getting laid, cooking and sewing socks, I don’ don’tt seem to recall her  being credited credited with any notable notable mentality. mentality. Cassady and Kerouac have a long talk about ‘god’ having ‘no qualms.’ And now Ginsberg will be entering the scene, it can only go downhill from here. I’d hazard a guess these men’s attitudes should jump out at any reasonable person as in fact an authentic misogyny, I doubt it would require a ‘feminazi’  personality to see it this way. way. These men men are cowards, incapable of taking responsibility, particularly in relation to women.  Defining myself as a slut: I had been reflecting reflecting on how women are construed to be “sluts” in monotheism based culturess for any variety of spurious culture spurio us reasons, such as socalled ‘promiscuous dress’, dress’, flirtatious behaviors et

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cetera or even for simply presuming to position themselves equal to men. I am in my 61st year. year. Looking back, I examined how my own sexual behaviors would  stack up, were were there an equivalent familiar cultural noun  for males.  Because I am a 'straight' man, I’ve not been on the receiving re ceiving end of the male hierarchy insults, certainly not in relation to social interactions in a sense of communicating sexuality. sexuality. So I must limit defining myself in terms of a ‘slut’ per actual sexual encounters, which is neither balanced nor fair in re relation lation to the more spurious accusations women (or openly gay men) must face, but it is the best I can do within the cultural norms. Since age 18 I have had sexual encounters with thirty five women (and zero zero men.) I could have had sexual relations re lations with many mor moree women than this, but I’ve I ’ve always tended not to have encounters with another woman if I am already in a sexual relationship, and I’d avoided women in an existing committed relationship. One was a virgin who became my first serious girlfriend One was a dedicated lesbian who could not explain why  she had a sudden desire for and invited the encounter One was a fellow ‘Christian’ college (Azusa Pacific)  student who woke me up as she climbed under my sheets  from out of nowhere, stark naked (a ‘gift from from god’) One was a sex crazed High School girl who could not ever get enough of me, anywhere, anytime, including

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risky encounters in public areas in broad daylight, until I moved and did not tell her to where I’d relocated relocated to One was a mutually agreed ‘we both need a lover’ indefinite arrangement Two were ‘winter blankets’ in Indian country, following a native cultural habit of a mutually agreed short-term cohabitation (typically over winter) Three were encounters with completely unknown women Three where it simply ‘clicked’ and our clothes came off  Five were were ‘flings’ or that is to say repeated sex over a  period of one to several weeks with no real real intentions of a long term relationship, just a mutual desire to get laid  Five were were hookers, all when I was a young soldier, soldier, four of those in Vietnam Seven were serious girlfriends I’d either lived with, or had been married to, one of them for 15 years  Eight were acquaintances acquaintances where we’d experienced experienced a  single spontaneous encounter Thirty-three were over a period of 1969 to 1990, I was Thirty-three married and faithful to one from late 1990 to Spring 2005 and have had one six months duration girlfriend  since, having decided there there is no healthy future in, or any  point to spurious relationships.

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 In western societies, a man with comparable history would likely be condemned only if he were exposed in  puritanical environment environment or aspired to politics in more more conservative societies and in many cases would be admired as ‘manly’ or 'virile’ where a comparable woman would be absolutely labeled la beled ‘slut’ or 'whore'  Pondering this preceding, it occurs to me that outside the odd relationship with a remarkable man, any woman who actually believes in achieving equality in monotheism based cultures (modern western civilization) is self-deluded. Before this could happen, the very cultural norms would have to be overthr overthrown, own, no differ d ifferent ent to the gods of Olympus had overthr overthrown own the Titans.  By comparison, in Native culture culture or matriarchy, matriarchy, a woman with comparable history would not be condemned at all. a ll. Women Women are perfectly entitled to ‘shop around’ until they settle down with a suitable or compatible male lover/friend that she would eventually decide on as a good husband/father over the long term, and generally this graduates to monogamy monogamy.. The father(s) of her children prior to settling down have no bearing on her subsequent long term relationship, there there is no attending paternal jealousy experienced by her man and a nd this phenomena reflects in Native language phenomena wheree there is no single word for 'father' wher 'fath er' because the  same word word means 'uncle.'

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4

There is a preoccupa preoccupation tion with death and that is discussed .. Kerouac blames everything on Cassady  bringing marijuana marijuana and the the party goes on.. on.. At this point Kerouac is screwing the Henderson chick who has sorted she will be ‘re-dumped’ by Cassady who had earlier [in the book] been making phone calls to Robinson behind her back, as well Kerouac’s sleeping with a longshoreman’s wife, and when he’d brought his six days [48-49] New Year’s eve road party to the house of a friends mother and she had the temerity to say something, the woman is told to “shut up, you old bag!”  I had walked across the street street to buy some 'multivit' fruit  juice at the bakery in Wiesbaden Wiesbaden and saw a notice taped to the door my microscopic German language skill indicated the premise would be closed on "muttertag." The young bakery ladies are always laughing at me, and have been since day one, a social-phenomena I fail to understand and has left me scratching my head (is my fly open?) But it does not matter because the laughter is  friendly.. So, I have tried to convince them I am the real  friendly real life model for Inspector Clouseau as I fumble my wallet, money and goods to be purchased with my old soldier  syndrome that is my neurological impairment. impairment.  I express express mock outrage recently recently,, routinely, routinely, at the price of my vitamin juice having increased but needing to augment the joke before it is totally boring, I interspersed today's shock at the price with ridiculously

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 profound and sincere sincere relief relief at the notice of the bakery's closure having reminded reminded me to call my mother on the upcoming Sunday or I most certainly would have  forgotten and she would be saying bad things to me.  Men forgetting forgetting mom's special day, day, the wife's birthday, birthday, anniversaries, et cetera, reminds me of nothing as much as the ten years I smoked dope and would sometimes tear my house apart looking for the keys I had 'forgotten' where I had placed (clutched in my fist all the while.)  I don't see how the dope can be responsible all these decades later, later, I am certain the tetrahydracannibanol molecule must have left my body's fat cells by now but  suddenly stricken with a flashback of dope smoker's  paranoia, I had the frightening thought, because I am  skinny,, the dope is actually concentrated to an unhealthy  skinny degree in the paper thin layer of natural insulation and energy ener gy reserve so scarce scarce to my physical p hysical that when I exhale I sink in the swimming pool, so what would be the  point of coming up for air? Exhale to catch my breath and I would sink to the bottom of the pool!! ARGHH!!  Having fought off the paranoia, I wondered to myself, if I could quit smoking dope, why can't can' t I remember what is important to the women in my life? (down to my 80 year old 'mutter', momentarily ;) To quit smoking dope (I had been smoking it like a  Jamaican dockworker since introduced introduced to the habit in Vietnam), first I quit buying it. I thought this would breed resentment re sentment in all of my dope-smoking friends when I had quit contributing, they would go away, and it would be

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easy. Well, Well, I was wrong.  A decade of smoking dope with peace and love hippies after the war was like paying into a pension, 401k or CD and earning interest. "Hey Ron, Remember the quarter ounce you fronted me two years ago? Here is a half ounce to return the favor, favor, sorry I 'forgot' for so long." It It was not working. So I told my friends I had acquired a peculiar religion where the adherents (I was the only one I knew of, but I did not tell them that) give up u p their abstinence for Lent and live cleanly the rest of the year (one said “Oh wow, wow, like that is so COOL man”) and I stuck to my guns. It worked. Nobody I knew that smoked dope could remember re member when it was Lent.  Having thought about all that, I concluded today that this is how it should work for remembering Mother’s Day. One day a year is pretty damn stingy, stingy, not only impossible  for a man to remember remember.. A man should be given grace and  forgiven  forgive n for the ONE DAY DAY a year he slips up and forgets the women in his life. Prioritizing the women in one's life, everyday as a matter of habit, one is less prone to  forget. Of course none of this has anything at all to do with my  younger sister having given me the butt kicking of the decade recently for not having called my 80 year old mom for a couple of months  Men, muttertag, and muttering...

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 Disclaimer: For those of my readers readers who are more more literal, this disclaimer would point out I am of the 'antiexaggeration' school of thinking.. Example given, when  Bill Clinton claimed he "did not inhale", that was an exaggeration. When I state "like a Jamaican  Dockworker", or "a decade of smoking dope with peace and love hippies", that is anti-exaggeration." The difference? Bill Clinton is a liar. When I tell a 'stretcher', it is to ‘enhance the truth’ ..

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5

Chapter 5 opens with Kerouac’s mom telling him he’s “wasting his time hanging around with Dean [Cassady] and his gang” but Kerouac decides she is wrong. Ginsberg is in the picture now, dishing out an amoral set of philosophical questions for Kerouac and Cassady, a sort of ‘what does it all mean’ demand that they discover a purpose and he is not talking about any purpose having to do with living intelligently. For example, as Ginsberg demands they come to terms with their plans and predicts they will come back from a mad adventure to the  philosopher’s  philosophe r’s ‘stone’, ‘stone’, in the same moment moment he is doing a threesome in bed with Cassady and Henderson, recalling the previous times in Denver and Ginsberg instructing Cassady in the concept of ‘freedom.’ Next, it is Cassady and Kerouac in bed together with Henderson. Then Cassady beats Henderson black and blue, what did you expect, with Kerouac, Cassady and Ginsberg, a woman is a cover for other issues, she gets fucked in every sense. By the time Kerouac, Cassady, Hinkle and Henderson leave New York on this new leg of the ‘adventure’, Ginsberg’s apartment looks like an amphetamine junkie den and likely it is just that, as Kerouac notes [on top of Cassady’s classic symptoms] Ginsberg “wasn’t sleeping anymore these days.”  No one will tell you, nor is it in any official literature that, at least up to the 1970s, the Coram Experimental  Forest outside Marten City, City, Montana, concealed a

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 geophone network in a restricted restricted area, on account of the  Hungry Horse Dam having been built on a fault which had since become active. Coram had been around since the turn of the 20 2 0th Century,, Hungry Horse had Century h ad been simply known as place on the trail where a starving horse had been found foun d before that, and Marten City came into existence in the late 1940s with the beginning of Hungry Horse Dam’s Dam’s construction and all three had boomed. For five years it was a construction workers bonanza, bars and business  flourished, post offices had opened and then it went bust with completion of the hydroelectric project. project. Hungry  Horse, Montana, ! mile west of Marten City, City, had  suffered  suffer ed the larger decline decline as many laborers had been housed in barracks as opposed to people who’d built houses in what became Marten City, or built or lived in existing structures at Coram. The Bureau of Reclamation owned barracks had been emptied by 1954 1 954 and pretty much so was Hungry Horse.  By the 1960s, Marten City and Coram had become a  Montana version of Al Capp’s Capp’s ‘Dog Patch’ in the Li’l  Abner comic strip. What had been left behind were were largely people with no wherewithal or motivation to move on, located in ! square mile or so of mostly dilapidated structures, in each of the locations.  In those days Marten City was largely a populated by Whites and Indians with the occasional Mexican in the mix. A half-mile to the east on U.S. Highway 2, Coram was a similar demographic circ circumstance. umstance. There were moree Indians in community those days than in the mor

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 present time, Blackfeet, Cree,  present Cree, and Chippewa (Plains Ojibwe) and Métis (a ( a kind of northern Creole) mostly, mostly, with a few Salish-Kootnai and Assiniboine, probably about 30% Indians mixed in with the Whites. This area is the heart of ‘up the line.’  I would suppose it is because the White and Indian kids  grew  gre w up together, together, children children are truly color blind and racism is a learned cultural phenomena, we did not know the bigotry you might encounter in other adjacent but off the reservation communities such as Havre, Montana.  Montana had seen several waves of White supremacists supremacists immigrate into the state, because there is no historical  Black community to offend their bigotry, bigotry, first following the Civil War, again with affirmative action in the 1950s, and now recently again but, I expect these more recent recent migrations will be largely absorbed and defanged over time because they are a minority in a ‘live and let live  society’ that’ll turn on them if they go to making serious  problemss in a mountain culture that largely  problem largely believes  people should mind their own damn business.  I recall, recall, when a kid in the 1960s, my dad had come home laughing at some local Whites who wer weree an exception, not the rule. They owned a café, I won’t won’t say which one because it has changed hands since and it’d not be fair to pin the present proprietors proprietors with the sin, it was the  previous  pre vious owners were racist (and did not last.)  As it happened, some Black African engineers, I recall recall  from Nigeria, had come to study Hungry Horse Dam. The Black engineers went into the café to eat, my dad

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was present, and the Africans were informed by the woman on shift, “We don’t serve niggers.” One of the  Africans had replied in perfect perfect English: “There should be no problem, we won’t be ordering niggers, we are heree for something to eat.” My dad had laughed out her loud, invited the Africans to sit at his table and that was the end of the stupid stuff. A good customer customer,, with honest reputation, re putation, was more powerful than any racist attitude.  For us kids, it was heaven because for the most part no one really cared cared about this sort of idiocy, and we had a one eyed deputy sheriff who pretended to get after us but actually believed we had to party because there was nothing better going on for kids to do, and our partying could be amazing events. We were wild, we were free,  sometimes we crossed crossed a line we had not ought have crossed, cr ossed, but there is no way Neal Cassady and company could be representative of our character. We had people like Kerouac’s crew migrate in, but that is another story.

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6

Rolling south and then west on the ride to New Orleans, there is a page dedicated to putting down cops as a class, all the while the petty criminal nature of these men shine, stealing gas and cigarettes as they push on. Kerouac is nearly 27 years old, with his mother supporting him when he is not subsidizing his ‘on the road’ with petty theft. Cassady is on the cusp of turning 23 years old. He claims engaging in sexual activities beginning at age nine, not a definitive proof of ‘acting out’ experiencing  pedophilia but but we do know by age 14 years years he had a ‘mentor of promising but disadvantaged young men’ who introduced him to sex with males. Ginsberg has introduced him (and Kerouac) to two-men-on-onewoman sex. Meanwhile Cassady is trying to convince the still black and blue (from his beating) Henderson all should be forgiven and she can move to San Francisco where they can sustain a relationship on the side, when he returns to the abandoned Robinson and his infant child. Kerouac feels stiffed by this unsurprising behavior from Cassady, he’d expected Henderson would be turned over to him to be screwed. Ginsberg has stayed behind in “fag town New York.” Hinkle is along on this ride to look up William Burroughs, where the woman he’d married to get money to begin this ‘adventure’ is waiting for him, after they’d dumped her in broke in Tucson weeks ago, because she is a “tenacious loser.” As they arrive in Burroughs town of New Orleans, Cassady “spat out the window, he groaned, he clutched his head. Great  beads of sweat fell fell from his forehead forehead from pure pure excitement and exhaustion.” I don’t suppose Kerouac

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would admit, even if he could with 1950s censorship, they are little more than a party of amphetamine-wrecked losers. All this, and we are merely " into part two’s chapter 6. The second half of chapter 6 is an ode to William S Burroughs, a junkie (self-injecting every day) and among the every imaginable substance imbibed, such as whiskey, marijuana and morphine, there is Benzedrine galore at his house, Burroughs wife Joan is a complete speed freak. It comes as small surprise Kerouac claims Burroughs had been the guru of himself, Cassady and Ginsberg, they’d all previously ‘sat at his feet’ to learn. For all of one’s adventures going about this incredible world and all of its possibilities, it is ultimately unnecessary to sink into a dissolute state where a man will kill his wife, when ostensibly trying to shoot a glass of vodka off of her head in a so-called ‘William Tell stunt gone wrong.’ This is precisely what Burroughs would  proceed to do do in a few years, when when in Mexico. Bribes had been paid to release him from jail, and he skipped the country, never answering for this behavior, on top of that, he’d been in Mexico waiting out the statute of limitations on charges charges in the USA. Prior to this, Kerouac had, together with Burroughs, attempted to conceal a killing, disposing of evidence, when one of their associates had killed another. It never ceases to amaze, how Western Civilization honors and rewards its’ losers, criminal genius notwithstanding. Now, Burroughs is joined the pantheon of the immortal ‘Beat Generation.’

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 I was walking alone in the forest outside of my hometown (West Glacier, Montana USA) returning to my house from a visit to some Blackfeet Indians staying in a tipi a mile or so away. Not paying attention to the fact I was not on a trail but walking through the forest simply by  familiarity with the terrain, my foot rolled rolled into a small depression depre ssion concealed by leaves and I heard my ankle break with the sound equivalent to the crack of a 22 caliber pistol. I was about half-way way home, out of earshot of anyone and thought .. 'well, this is pretty pretty stupid circ circumstance' umstance' Sitting on the ground, I felt over my foot and determined what to do. I tore my shirt into a makeshift wrap for my ankle, to give it some support, stood up and leaning against a tree, looked around for a suitably strong walking stick. I spotted one and hopped on one leg to retrieve re trieve it, and completed my journey home.  My 'home' at that time was a metal shed with a dirt floor, floor,  I was unemployed and pretty much much broke and seeing a doctor or using an emergency room room and being billed, was not an appealing thought. So I packed up minimal camping and survival gear and a few paperback books, and hitch-hiked to the north entrance of Yellowstone Yellowstone  National Park.  Just inside the park, you won't see this in any of the official literature, is the natural drain of the 'Mammoth  Hot Spring', where a large large stream stream of very hot water

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erupts from the ground ground and flows a short distance into the Gardiner River. It is in the river canyon below  Mammoth, about 2-3 miles south of Gardner, Gardner, Montana, where the road from Gardner to Mammoth crosses the Gardner River (there (there is a sign marking the 45th Parallel) is a parking place, I had made the journey catching rides in less than two days. I hobbled the mile or so upstream along the riverside trail and arrived at Boiling River for my convalesce. For the next ten days or so I spent my days soaking my  foot (at times my entire entire body) in the natural beauty of my surroundings, taking breaks to sun myself while reading  paperbacks on the ledge above the river. river. Elk and Bison had wandered by, by, the sky was big and beautiful. The river has cut away much of the bank since those days, as it slowly moves in a seasonal migration towards the opening in the ground whence the hot water flows, one day the flow of the hot water will likely emerge directly directly into the cold flow of the Gardiner River. River. Then, as now and as in times past, one should be able to find the place in the mixed hot and cold water flows to suit your desire desire,, it is quite a marvelous experience to shift ones body from hot to cold and back to hot with minimal effort.  America was less fascist and our National parks less  policed in those days, there was no one giving me any  problem for for having a small tent pitched 50 or so yards  from the the Boiling River hot spring, outside any designated camping area. Nor was it any big deal, in those days, to

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'skinny dip' [bathe in the nude] at Boiling River, River, people worked these things out with common sense, or as in the case of what I had witnessed one day while sunning like an Iguana (in my cut-off blue jeans), sometimes fate works these things out for us, and that is ok. Or mostly that would be the case and people who could not handle the nude bathers would find somewher somewheree else or another time to enjoy. Life was more relaxed in those days.  It was late mid-morning, I was reading 'The Greening Greening of  America' (it never happened, obviously) and a group of about a dozen hippies had arrived and all had jumped into the river naked, no big deal. They were enjoying the water where the hot mixed with the cold, after each season's high water people would gather the smooth river stones and build submerged dikes to shape the current curre nt into bathing pools of varying temperatur temperatures. es. Not everyone was naked and those not in the nude, did not seem to mind those who were.  But then .. it happened a Girl Scouts troop was coming up the trail, from my perch perch above things I could see what the others could not, an old and a young scout master, master, and about 15 teenage girl scouts with towels about to discover at near point blank range that their planned soak was full of naked people. The older woman was up at the point of the troop and coming upon the place where the trail first opened a view of a dozen naked hippies in the water a mere 15 or 20

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meters distant, she turned like a drill sergeant and ordered order ed her girls to stop in their tracks. The girls obediently did so, but also you could see there was a certain spirit of rebellion stirring, obviously the nude hippies were no threat, they were were women and kids among them, it was not like some motley lot of o f dirty old men. These were more more lenient times, the girls wer weree not horrified, they only wanted into the water water,, hippies being a common social phenomena of that era, they'd yet to become extinct and this was no big deal, it was plain to see.  Now, the scoutmaster ladies had separated themselves to  Now, one side, to have a 'Plan B' conversation out of the girls hearing, and I swear it must have been the serpent from the garden that freaks out the misogynist Christians, had something to say about what happened next.  It just so happened a very large Bull Snake frequented frequented that area and liked a pile of old lava slabs to sunbathe and the lady scout masters had chosen those very lava slabs to stand on and have their conversation. The Bull Snake also choose that very time to come up for his morning sun and emer emerged ged precisely between the women, at their very feet, sending the two scout master ladies into what appeared to be opposite direction levitations with accompanying screams. By the time they had recover re covered ed their composure, too late, all discipline had been lost, and all of their charges were were happily in the water, together with naked hippies.

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 Recipe for recre recreating ating an outdoor hot spring in your bathtub: Hot water on demand, d emand, a large window open to a beautiful day, day, one packet of 'natron' [baking soda will substitute] and a deep tub. Close your eyes while soaking and engage memories of more innocent times .. all the while imagining any sound of traffic traffi c are the narcotics deranged tourists Kerouac, Cassady and Hinkle, soon to be fatally gored, having convinced Henderson to take their photo while posing like clowns together with Bison.

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7

^ Perhaps I shouldn’t have gored Al Hinkle to death in Yellowstone in the preceding chapter, as Hinkle makes a sane decision one can only hope holds up, to bail out of the madness together with the girl who’d previously been dumped in Tucson, the two of them go off to get their own room and look for work. Possibly Al had a ‘back from the future’ vision and changed realities (Burroughs  believes in things things like this.) The The “tenacious loser” (Hinkle’s wife) comes across as the sanest character in this lot of losers, she’d sequestered herself at Burroughs’ place until Hinkle had arrived, having nothing to do with her unwanted host junkies. Kerouac has no use for her. Reinforcing the long running thought they’re (Kerouac, Cassady and Henderson) amphetamine junkies, Kerouac notes more of Cassady’s bizarre behavior, as well flat out states the area Cassady and Henderson been sleeping on the couch at Burroughs, is littered with Benzedrine tubes. Kerouac, other than noting the odd behavior he cannot relate to, such as the “tenacious loser” extracting Hinkle and moving on, performs an oratory of what amounts to morphine induced political fellatio on Burroughs, worshiping the gifted degenerate throughout chapter 7. Burroughs, Kerouac’s fellow Navy reject, who’d also failed at an attempt to join ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan’s CIA  precursor,, the ‘Office  precursor ‘Office of Strategic Services’, Services’, rails against Washington DC, corporations, unions, the country gone

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to hell, and of course it does not occur to him how his lifetime dissolute drug addiction might fit in this theme. On the other hand, I have a lot of respect for Hunter S. Thompson having completed his military service and taking an anti-war stance in contrast to the military reject and holier than thou killer/junkie Burroughs. Burroughs.  Iraq bothered me because because I was certain my eldest son would go [he did not]… a peacekeeper veteran of Bosnia in the Guard. Iraq also bothere bothered d me because it seemed we had learned nothing POLITICALLY as a result of Vietnam. Our Vietnam deep involvement was engineered by our combined military-State Department-CIAcorporate industrial complex profit p rofit motive with the  phony ‘Gulf of Tonkin’ Tonkin’ incident… a remarkably false event sharing the identical value of political deceit found in our accusations of Iraq having weapons of mass destruction and Al Qaida ties… one million dead Iraqi civilians later, later, this is all a part of process in my head, a  process  proce ss not entirely set set aside from multiple attempts attempts on my life for my combined life experience and politic going to military intelligence and psy-ops skills… not only my successes as an investigator The bottom line is this: It is all about money, a corporate  share-holder orgy orgy in government and, now days, with the beyond ‘Orwellian’ twist of religious fanaticism, Christian fanaticism and corporate profiteering Christian driven Islamic fanaticism, thrown in  I remember remembered ed the Medal of Honor winner who would not cut his hair for Nixon at his White House ceremony after leaving the Army, Army, he’d told the press “I was stoned and I

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 freaked out”… relating to his acts of heroism.  freaked heroism. I wonder what our ‘Bible Patriots’ of today’s American military’s 15,000 strong fundamentalist funda mentalist “Officer’ “Officer ’s Christian  Fellowship” would think of him? Maybe they would spit on him like the rumors had of our returning Vietnam Vietnam Veterans experience?? That never happened to me.. Our Veterans Veterans service organizations drive off members with their redneck social ignorance and drunken bar  scene of regaled regaled war glory, glory, lives and years past, in utter disdain of persons like myself, providing no sober and  peace devoted alternative… “blessed are are the peace makers”, Jesus wasn’t wasn’t talking about Colt revolv revolvers… ers… and they can get you psycho money, money, as your veteran advocate, with their fill in the blank (your name) forms requesting re questing disability reviews for physical and/or mental disability  Funny how that psycho rating climbs but not the rating  for physical disability even with your health deteriorating as you help Native Americans win  successes against corporate criminals… corporate criminals who counterfeit compliance to the law to steal  Indian resources.. resources.. corporations like Chevron Chevron with Condoleezza Rice sitting on the board of directors.. while attorneys with names like Yoo write legal briefs to assist  fixing things on the inside  I did not appreciate having to go to the same major university medical center the Veterans Administration  sends it schizophrenics to be studied, for my evaluation, evaluation, and pay quite a bit of money out of pocket to get a clean bill of mental health and undo their label ‘psycho’… how

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would they turn my clean result down? They could not. Our labeling and persecuting political enemies had been a bit more careful careful than that of the old Soviet Union… our more effective dissidents are quietly murdered, typically with difficult to detect poisonings meant to look like natural deaths, or arranged accidents when they cannot be discouraged or discredited. Very Very likely people such as  Karen  Kare n Silkwood and Paul Wellstone, Wellstone, not only Omar Torrejos  And then you have veterans peace organizations organizations driving off (with their socialist drivel) people who’d otherwise be members, leftists who won’ won’tt work with the conservative anti-war folk to push change for our common secular  sanity and very life survival Our grassroots reform culture, culture, liberal and conservative,  seem like a couple that always fight, gossip and consequently turn off the neighbors… to the wealthy corporate criminals’ advantage and life is a drama like  some morbid reality reality show, show, when in fact this essay is a  fair glimpse of a very present present reality reality in relation relation to reality  past… we are NOT learning from our mistakes and uniting to force change in our politics, rather allowing the same players play the same subversions of o f our rule of law with their corporate criminal influence buying game in ever more dangerous gambits in an ever more dangerous world The 82nd  Airborne at Fort Bragg, 1972  I did not know anyone who went to church. Some undoubtedly did, but it was not pushed in our face. Our

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 self-sobriquet in those days, the jumping junkies, was a barracks neurosis of fitness, drugs and frequent lockdowns  A murderous murderous collective collective killing machine to face in battle, no doubt, despite numerous soldiers whose life was a cocktail of fitness and drugs… men that easily could win commendations or medals for valor valor,, ‘freaking out while  stoned’, our training was that good, that had been demonstrated by many of us alre already ady in Vietnam  No one I knew needed to be motivated to patriotism or  simply do a good job as a soldier with mandatory Bible  studies, the fundamentalist crap being force fed fed today’s today’s troops. I’m getting ahead of myself in the story’s timeline, but I wonder how our Vietnam experience stacks up to today’s military’s fundamentalist Christian reality, my recollections are of a more honest military, or are just moree honest recollections and certainly no less brave mor  Fort Lewis, 1969  In Indian country, country, where I am from, from, it is the size of your heart that counts. I was in two fights in basic training, and I did not start either of them. The first was picked by my trainee squad leader who thought he had to be a bully to lead. I did not back down. He was easily 1/3 larger than I, physical stature and weight. He won that  fight, but I was not defeated and he knew it… I gave him  far more than he ever could have expected, in fact about the limit he could handle, and showed sho wed no fear. fear. He left me alone after that go round and stopped picking on people.  He was smart enough to learn. The second guy I fought,

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closer to my size and none too bright, was put onto me by a bigger guy that did not want to take me on. I made  short work of him. No one made us go to church  Fort Rucker, Rucker, 1969-1970 Your army gratitude for graduating the th e light observation helicopter maintenance class at the aviation school… which means you could be sitting on the back floor of a  four seater, seater, legs out the side, feet on the skids with a machine gun in your lap, playing tease for a gunship you are partnered partnered with in a ‘hunter-killer team’… is to be washing pots and an d pans in the school’s school’s cafeteria while waiting for your assignment West! Vietnam! I never saw the guy’s face, my orders appeared as papers clutched in a fist thrust through the  slot for trays with dirty dishes… my reaction reaction was a  strange mix of adrenaline adrenaline and sinking stomach… nobody was making us go to church  At Travis Travis Air Force Force Base, 1970 Shipping out, I’d heard of the Vietnam ‘fuck you lizards’ and took it to be an a n environmental psychosis, I did not, I could not, see this as anything short of a soldier’s urban legend. Lizards simply do not say “fuck you.” That was my naive reality… and the fact is, no one was marching us to church. And lack of church is NOT why we lost Vietnam  At Vung Vung Tau, Tau, 1970-71

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 I’d been transferred to Vung Vung Tau Tau after six months inland as a member of the smallest combat assault aviation unit in Vietnam, Vietnam, I had been assigned to brigade aviation at a brigade of elite light infantry shock troops. We were brutal to the enemy in combat AND unchurched. I’d never heard a ‘fuck you lizard’ so much as mentioned, let alone seen or heard one  It was on my first night shift guard duty at Vung Vung Tau, Tau, I’d had smoked a joint of potent Vietnamese marijuana, that was normal by now now,, was settled in behind my small  sandbagged breastwork for what I figured figured would be a boring night. And then, from ten feet behind me… clearly, and not meekly, a human voice had stated: “Phuc uuu!” With every hair follicle on my body an instant goose bump, I spun 180 degree degreess and would have cut anyone  standing there in half with my Colt automatic rifle… rifle… if  someone had been there there  Now, worse than the non-existent Viet  Now, Viet Cong taunting me, the marijuana paranoia called the ‘noids’, began to work. I had completely forgotten about ‘fuck you lizards’ and my sanity was crumbling… no one at Vung Vung Tau Tau had warned me of this enemy because, for the soldiers already stationed there, this was ‘normal.’ I probably thought, ‘Man, I should have gone to church’ The lizard’s accent is like an American saying ‘fuck you’ through a kazoo, only 95% human and 5% kazoo… hence the perfect Vietnamese Vietnamese accent and spelling- ‘phuc

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uuu’  It must have been the alpha male phuc uuus which were at times particularly vocal, a sort of o f major mucus throat clearing, before hurling the spitwad: “oh-aw-ickk-phucuuu-phuc-uuu-phuc-uuu” The CIA propaganda teams trained the lizards, that and the fact of our Vung Vung Tau Tau Viet Viet Cong phuc uuu heroin  smugglers, kind of makes me snigger at the idea of $500 million Taliban heroin profit claims… because it was  phuc uuu reptiles dressed dressed like ‘Men in Black’ delivering the heroin via the CIA’s “Air America” planes, to supply our Vung Tau addicted soldiers The Vung Tau Viet Cong phuc uuu lizards were selling our good food downtown, using U.S. Army trucks to deliver,, our soldiers deliver so ldiers had to buy their own food back to  get a decent meal, sort of making me laugh at the thought of our ‘Christian’ ‘Christian ’ military leaders pointing fingers to corruption in Afghanistan, following on Halliburton in  Iraq One of our cooks was so outraged at preparing the  substituted friendly fire fire killed Water Water Buffalo for our meal, he made marijuana brownies for our phuc uuus cadres (and went to jail saying oh-phuc) The lizards took a cut of the taxi fares, from those taxis allowed to use the premium parking outside our base  gate, the phuc uuus drove up the fares fares this way and our  soldiers drove the the taxis away from the gate with a wrist rocket roc ket and ball bearings, muttering: ‘phuking phuc uuus’

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That got us all into trouble and we became the phuc uuus confessing in formation. Our phuc uuu 1 st  Sergeant: “I want the device and I want the responsible parties to step up front and center!” From the back of the formation: “Phuc uuu.” That came from my squad and suddenly the 1 st  Sergeant was at the rear of our formation, in my face, “West! “W est! Who said that!!” From the front of the formation came the words: “Phuc uuu” The ‘Biggus Diccus’ scene in Monty Python’s “Life of  Brian” HAD to have been inspired inspired by the “phuc uuu” interrogation at Vung Tau  And the one guy I knew of in our company who’d ever  gone to church, our Jesus freak, freak, was a good guy, guy, never  pushing it in our face, but most of us knew no piety at all and we did great work rebuilding the war torn helicopters  At Camp Frenzel-Jones (Long Binh) 1970 We called him O, no kidding, simply s imply that, O. Behind his back some called him Psych-O, one of his helicopter combat team-mates had told me O became sexually aroused in combat. I thought that was interesting interesting but who cared? O was a killer and a good one and, that was  premium  pre mium in our business  But killers, in the military, military, not only on the street, must be managed, like the time I was driving an errand and O had wanted to come along because it was along the route wheree he could buy good opium laced marijuana wher cigarettes. cigare ttes. Coincidentally, these were commonly called

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‘o-jays’ by the soldiers, rather fitting… I stopped at the  small business stand on the highway between Long Binh and Saigon where O made his purchase, I’d gotten out of the truck and was checking things out when O’s O’s eyes  suddenly seemed to roll roll up behind his lids and come up again from below, below, a different person… he had pulled a 38 caliber pistol from his pocket and was about to shoot his drug dealer for short changing him when I stepped between them, pushed O’ O’ss arm holding the pistol away while making eye contact and saw recognition registering re gistering as I told him “Get in the truck O, we’re leaving…” I was not a serious pothead, just curious O was a 50 caliber door gunner on a Bell UH-1-H model helicopter converted to a gunship, a frightening killing machine packing O’s 50 Cal, as well there was a modified XM-27 ‘mini’ gun system: a large volume, multiple barrel, high speed modern 7.62mm crew directed dire cted Gatling gun driven by an electric motor- a  grenade  gre nade launcher was onboard, also assorted hand  grenades  gre nades that could simply be dropped out of the aircraft aircraft by the crewmen (our crews flew with the doors re removed), moved), these included fragmentation and ‘white phosphorus’  grenades…  gre nades… a white phosphorus grenade dropped dropped into enemy positioned using jungle canopy for cover can be especially effective in panicking and flushing targets into open space where they are easy kills. I don’t recall we weree ever taught this was a war crime violating Geneva wer Conventions, or maybe it was not banned yet, but I doubt it would have mattered… it was about killing the armed enemy in combats and it was called ‘whatever works’  Being good killers does not come naturally to just

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anyone, and most of us, unlike O, had to learn. Many learned to kill by learning to hate. I recall one of my  fellow soldier’s soldier’s laughing about having dropped a CS (tear) gas grenade on a Buddhist funeral proce procession ssion as they flew over at low level… I thought that was pretty mean but it was emotional survival to him, he had learned to hate the “Gooks” in orde o rderr to feel right about killing them. He might still be maintaining his hate and emotional survival by telling war stories while drunk in a Veterans of Foreign Wars club  None of the soldiers I knew believed our political leaders  godless communist enemies were were ‘children ‘children of Satan’ we could indiscriminately kill, families included… that is happening now days with our special operations in  Afghanistan… Our Vietnam Vietnam soldiers accepted surrenders surrenders and I never knew of any murde murderr of civilians other than the My Lai massacre and the murde murderr I prevented. But our crews did have lots of those ‘feels right’ hate opportunities to do things like drop tear gas on outdoor weddings and funerals.. because we flew just above treetop tre etop level most of the time… in order to be a brief and  fleeting target target away from any unexpected unexpected enemy ground ground  firee  fir  Back at Vung Vung Tau Tau  I don’t don’t know or cannot recall who began it. Maybe it was a soldier snapped and said “I’ll show you fuck you!” It was after dark, on a weekend. Maybe thirty of us had not  gone to town on pass because we had no money or did not care to. The numerous phuc uuus were especially vocal that night. Someone had found a stick and began

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killing the phuc uuus and the soldiers suddenly mobilized as though ordered to the attack and went on a lizardkilling rampage. Flashlights wer weree brought out. More and moree killing sticks were located. It went on for maybe mor two or three hours, until a living phuc uuu could not be  found. Lizard bodies were were everywhere everywhere  If there was anything we could have learned learned in Vietnam, Vietnam, it is: even the lizards were were meant to hate us

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8

Kerouac and Cassady steal bread, cheese and a carton of cigarettes at their first fueling stop, having left New Orleans for “Frisco.” Describing the untended store he steals the bread and cheese from as a ‘shack’ where he can hear family eating dinner in the back room, he  justifies his act with a sort sort of pseudo anti-capitalist anti-capitalist “crooks don’t know.” What we cannot know is the extent this act may have injured a family’s small business. Cassady steals the cigarettes. The drugs, alchohol and gas money for this portion of the trip is Kerouac’s G.I. Bill dollars meant for college. He does not explain how this is possible, given he is a navy washout but we can assume he found a means to cheat the system or there were then liberal rules governing veterans veterans assistance. Cassady tells a story of two years previous in Beaumont, Texas (as they are passing through that town), how he’d the opportunity to pick up a starving runaway girl out to steal an orange and brings her home, while noting “her  beautiful body body was matched only by her idiot idiot mind”, as Burroughs was trying to screw a young Mexican kid by getting the boy drunk, and Ginsberg is inspired to write  poetry in the midst of this, high on heroin. Out in west Texas Kerouac shoplifts their bread and cheese again: “We couldn’t spend a cent on food.” The amphetamine psychosis psychosis has caught up with them, Cassady stops the car and strips naked, gallivants about in the sagebrush, Henderson and Kerouac strip as well

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and they drive on stark naked, stopping again to explore an Indian ruin and then Kerouac falls asleep while Cassady and Henderson are screwing in the car. They are about out of gas money by El Paso. Dean vanishes for awhile with a local who suggests they mug someone for money and while Kerouac denies any real intent in this regard, Cassady reappears saying “that is one crazy guy” and they are somehow able to roll on with no gas money, out of El Paso. About this time Henderson has begun to rue the entire adventure, and particularly her association with Cassady. Kerouac subsequently claims he pawned his watch beyond the New Mexico-Arizona state line, to make it to Tucson, but he is inclined to concealing certain facts (including his homosexua homosexuality) lity) and has been shown to be an invertebrate liar, relating to culpability in larger embarrassments. embarrassments. One might safely assume this leg of the journey had been funded with a felony robbery. Kerouac borrows money from an acquaintance in Tucson and they push on in amphetamine-induced insomnia.  Montana libertarianism has nothing at all to do with tea  party politics. How it all began with our ‘live and let live’  philosophy almost certainly stems from from the Civil War War and tens of thousands of gold prospectors from from north and  south alike, having to get along. There was perhaps perhaps the occasional hard-line southern partisans from a camp at ‘Confederate Gulch’ east of the Missouri river, rode through the main street at Helena, firing revolvers into the air, air, and that was pretty much all our country-side experienced of the war. war. Then we had our bad-men, ba d-men, Henry  Plummer and gang, and around the turn of the 20th century, Kid Curry was operating in the state.

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 A few decades later we had Lucky Luciano using our wild country for liquor running from Canada during  prohibition, as well purportedly using the ‘Silvertip  Ranch’ outside Marten City to chill out. After, After, in the 1950s, Montana became a haven for both fugitive NAZIs and fugitives fu gitives from the McCarthy ‘anti-communist’ ‘an ti-communist’  persecutions, it has always been a good place for people who’ve wanted to drop out. If they’d gone about a bout killing one another as a matter of habit, it’d work for no one and so Montana people have always pretty much looked the other way, in the best interests of all, to get along.  And that’s that’s how it was for the kids growing up, an amazing amount of tolerance, and liberty, and when kids had been sent to the youth prison at Miles City on occasion, it was not a big deal. People understood we live in a very imperfect world. They were welcomed home when time was up and life moved on. I knew some of these kids, consider many of them friends to this day and they were angels by comparison with Cassady and  Kerouac.  Ker ouac.  Mike S. was brilliant, not mean. He had, like many of us (and some of our parents) realized school was a lot of horseshit intended to structure us into sheep. How can  you expect the children children of multiple generations of anti social outlaws, among solid good folk, and there had been plenty of overlap, to train to be an accountant, or  god knows what other mundane life of totally & utterly disinteresting self-slavery, to conform? We hated school and there was quite a bit of understanding and lenience.

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 Mike had, on one of his more inspired inspired days, taken a  Montana Highway Patrol officers uniform out of the  parked patrol car in front front of the Deer Lick Saloon, put the uniform on and began dire directing cting tourists up a winding 70 miles of gravel road to a wilderness border ranger  station, because, as he’d decided to imagine for these unfortunates, the main road to Glacier National Park had been closed to all but bu t emergency emergency services. The  Highway Patrolman came came out of the saloon, where he’d been having a leisurely hamburger, there was Mike  standing out in the road, waving local traffic through, through, but tourists were being sent to nowhere and Mike was delivered deliver ed to the Flathead County Coun ty Jail at Kalispell,  Montana, juvenile offender cell. That was a big mistake on the authorities part. They should have just given him a talking to.  As it happened, the juvenile cell’s cell’s one wall at the beginning of the cell-block must have been a mere  plywood or single layer of brick separated it from the the evidence room room and Mike was a typical country kid,  strong as an ox. That night he’d broke broke through the wall in a bid to escape and found him-self among cases of confiscated whiskey. whiskey. He ferried the whiskey back into his cell and began passing full bottles out to the other  prisoners, handing them through the steel bars, the whiskey passed from out-stretched out-stretched arm to our-stretched arm from cell to cell and the th e entire jail population became roaring drunk. And, of course, Mike was sent on to Miles City..

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9

Kerouac does not know what a ‘hairpin turn’ is, calling it a ‘u-turn.’ There no more mention of stealing to eat, and no mention of going hungry and so we are back to essentials multiplying like ‘fishes and loaves’ by a man who whines if he misses a meal, on the other hand,  people strung strung out on amphetamines amphetamines typically typically lose any inclination to eat after awhile. They’d taken the Tehachapi route going north, the one I’d mentioned made more sense to take south if he’d not lied about the circumstance of hustling Bea Franco on the bus to LA. Having made it to Oakland, Cassady dumps Kerouac and Henderson on the street (so he can run off to fuck Robinson, ASAP) with a vague promise to find them in the morning, and Henderson is slowly figuring some things out as she states: “You see what a bastard he is? Dean [Cassady] will leave you out in the cold any time it is in his interest.” Kerouac agrees with Henderson in his  bald-faced lying way, way, his modus is no different. different. He’s He’s  been aching to get Henderson Henderson away from Cassady Cassady so he can screw her as much as he’d like to and then discard,  just like he has screwed screwed other women women he’d made made a conscious decision to fuck and dump (e.g. Bea Franco.)  I’d been hiking with friends across the Bob Marshall Wilderness complex, we’d enter entered ed the are area a at Spotted  Bear River, River, near where it meets meets the South Fork of the  Flathead River, River, above Hungry Horse reservoir reservoir.. We’d We’d hiked the Wall Creek trail across the Spotted Bear headwaters country, country, into the North Fork Fo rk of the White  River on the west side of the Chinese Wall. Wall. I woke up one

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morning to the sound of a shotgun blast and the slug had whistled right over me as Mike T. had hollered “Venison today boys!” On the other side of me from Mike was a  small deer, deer, it had been knocked down by the slug. Mike ran around me and over to her, having reloaded with birdshot and while saying “Take “Take it easy girl” to the deer (struggling to get up) had finished her off with a second  shot at point black range to the back of her head. We cut her up and built a makeshift soak-tub from a  plastic ground cloth, filled with the deer cut cut into strips and topped off with water, sea salt and cayenne pepper.  I’d gathered some wild onions from from the sandy river-bed and we had fried venison liver and onions for a late breakfast, bre akfast, went fishing, had trout for dinner. dinner. At dusk we’d woven a thin green willow-branch drying rack that had been suspended by supports, forked branches stuck into the ground, about a foot above our campfire. Through the night we’d taken shifts, feeding a fire deliberately kept in a low state of combustion, with a mix of dry and green wood fed in a small but steady stream, to keep the fire going under cover of dark with low light, ligh t, low heat and high smoke, the rack ra ck covered covered in pre-soaked venison strips. At daybreak the fire was snuffed and the entire valley, full of smoke, soon cleared off. We each had a decent supply of preserved (semi-dried, salted, and  smoked) Robin Hood’s Hood’s ‘king’s ‘king’s deer’ added to our packs and moved on. That was our first few days hiking an incredible incr edible paradise, but only one among many interspersed journeys in various local company, a taste of what had been, prior to the environmental devastation

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attending the social devastation visited upon wild  peoples in what had been a wild land, a Paradise lost and a Paradise that would remain unknown to most that would come after. We were the Indians, the people we’d  grown up with. What was the point to respect respect convention? This will never substitute for self-respect.

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10

Kerouac states about Henderson: “I saw what a whore she was” after Henderson had sorted a place for them to stay and he’d fucked her for two nights and began fighting with her, probably because he treats women like shit. When she had taken up the company of some other  people and that that is too much for for him to handle, handle, he dirt  bags her. her. Kerouac closes closes chapter 10 spewing spewing a few of  pages of amphetamine amphetamine psychosis-guilt-lade psychosis-guilt-laden-gibberish n-gibberish about his mother ashamed of him in imaginary former lives and how miserable and hungry he is. We all had noticed, at different times, on different  journeys, that you could not get high on marijuana when on sustained hikes in the wilderness. Smoking good weed was like smoking nothing at all. There was no point to  getting stoned. Hiking above Big Salmon Lake, via Smokey Creek trail across across the Swan Divide, a route to take us out at Lake Holland, with 100 plus miles of trail behind us, we’d met a camped party, hosted by  professional wilderness outfitters.  It blew the minds of the city people when we’d described our route and calculated the intervening distance on a meandering ten days hike that had seen us looking to the east from the top of the Chinese Wall Wall (Continental  Divide) near Larch Larch Hill Pass, exploring the White River country,, and then the upper reaches of the South Fork of country the Flathead from White River Park to Big Prairie up the one side and down the other, other, past Holbrooke to Little Salmon Park, and then with a short loop back, now

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headed out above the Big Salmon. S almon. They were a hunting  party,, we’d given them several trout  party trout we’d caught a bit earlier, they were super pleased with that gesture of  simple country hospitality and friendliness, and they’d  given us each a beer. beer. Then we’d pushed on, we’d be out later that day. ‘Two Buffalo Bulls ‘Two Bu lls had walked to a crest and saw a herd of cows in the valley below. below. The young bull pranced p ranced in a circle and proposed: “Let’s run down there and breed a bunch of those cows!” The old bull had replied: No, let’s let’s WALK down there and breed them all..”’ We crossed the Swan divide and walking down we came to Upper Holland Lake, where two hundred girl scouts weree camped out. The scout master ladies wer lad ies we met were curious, duly impre impressed ssed with our hiking ‘across the Bob’  feat and probably horny. horny. They invited us to camp out with them that night. The four of us country boys looked at each other other,, saw opportunity for BIG trouble, I’m  guessing the film ‘Three in the Attic’ had crossed every every one of our minds. We We politely declined, explaining we had a schedule to keep, there were were friends would be  picking us up for the ride back to the car we’d left at  journey’ss beginning (not true.) At Holland Lake Lodge  journey’ we bought Snickers and Almond Joy candy bars. Weed Weed would get us stoned again.

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11

On the Road’s part two, last chapter opens with: “Dean found me when he finally decided I was worth saving.” Cassady: “Where’s Marylou man?” Kerouac: “The whore ran off.”

End of Part Two

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Part Three 1

Of course Kerouac opens part three with a lie, no surprise here. He states he’d almost been hired at a job  but if you look look at the context, context, either he’d quit quit or been fired. Having used a G.I. Bill check forwarded to him by his mom (now it is plain she proactively enables what she has to know are fraudulent endeavors) he’d returned home from San Francisco, and then uses another of these government education checks to return to Denver, fraudulently enrolled in school he cannot be attending if you believe his timelines. That or his attendance is spotty at best, with no real inclination to education but rather acquiring the benefits to further dissolute adventures, a deceitful literary voyeurism. This would be easy enough to accomplish, in those days government bureaucracy could not begin to keep up with actual attendance (no computers) on what amounted to an ‘honor system.’ He doesn’t find any of his despicable party friends in Denver and launches into a self-flagellating oratory of guilt, not feeling adequate, unconsummated desires, a depressed self-portrait of a loser. Then he states: “I went to see a rich girl I knew. In the morning she  pulled a hundred hundred dollar bill bill out of her silk stocking stocking and said ‘you’ve been talking of a trip to Frisco, that being the case, take this and go have your fun.’ So all my  problems were were solved.”

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I now can believe Kerouac has been a male prostitute and as much as admits it without saying so, his ‘rich girl’ might have in her fifties and a Federal judge’s wife for all we know. He doesn’t name her. Alternatively, it might have been the Federal judge himself, dressed up as a woman for public consumption in Kerouac’s memoir. And then a whadda-ya-know moment, he catches a ride west to San Francisco with pimps. The closet whore-boy Kerouac now runs again to Cassady as though to be reunited with his one true love. There can be little doubt Kerouac and Cassady have been lovers, Kerouac and Burroughs have been lovers, Kerouac and Ginsberg have  been lovers and and Kerouac’s Kerouac’s rewrite of what now now amounts to a Petronius’ ‘fellatio-satyricon’ on the road, moves on. It stretches the imagination to understand how Kerouac could possibly be idolized in literature except one were to ‘step outside the box’ of the subject at hand and look at what is idolized in a larger sense: misogyny, criminality and associated but closet lifestyle of  prostituting oneself. oneself. In this case, one one needn’t needn’t look far at all to discover accurate comparison of Kerouac’s work to another societal deceit on a macrocosmic scale:  I’d been perusing titles at ‘Books in Berlin’ (an English language bookstore) somewhat absent-mindedly abs ent-mindedly,, but noticing quite a few titles dedicated to international intrigue. I suppose that should come as no surprise, there are many CIA and other o ther English fluent ‘spooks’ in town, as well they must have quite a few local acquaintances and it is reasonable to assume they’d be inter interested ested in ‘shop-craft’ reading.

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 I had no particular interest in the fiction side of the  game, it is difficult enough to sort through the  propaganda and disinformation rife in non-fiction titles, but then a book I happened to glance inside the front cover caught my eye. “Body of Lies is fiction but reads like fact. CIA officers admire [author David] Ignatius because more than any other writer he understands the nuances of their trade –  fascinating” George George Tenant, Tenant, former CIA director director.. ‘Well then, why not’ was my thought and I purchased the used paperback Body of Lies.  If George George Tenant Tenant was accurate in his assessment of the book, and there is no re reason ason to expect otherwise, he’d have done the agency a favor to have kept his mouth  shut.  But first, the author. author. It has been a very long time since quality fiction has been appreciated, and David Ignatius adds to the thought. Though not as cheesy as, say say,, The  Da Vinci Vinci Code [my other read read of contemporary fiction in recent re cent years and a profound disappointment] the quality qua lity is far short of classic American literature. It is not so much a phenomena of dearth of quality writers in modern American literature, so much as it seems there is a dearth of readers who can appreciate quality, quality, which  sadly is no longer seen in best selling works, we have not  seen a Washington Washington Irving in quite some time. David  Ignatius is no Washington Washington Irving and Body of Lies is no ‘Astoria’ .. but is better than Dan Brown’s cheese that  passes for literature.

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 If Body of Lies accurately depicts CIA covert operatives and actions, as Tenant Tenant claims, I should recommend the book as a lesson in why CIA is about as useful to my nation as the folk proverb ‘tits on a boar.’ Other than revealing re vealing his taste for crass literary shallowness, Tenant Tenant also should have kept his mouth shut because he has authenticated/endorsed: 1)Cowboy culture and mentality mentality.. Throughout, there is a hackneyed and simplistic theme of ‘if we kill first, they won’t kill us’ coupled with the idea ‘what the  politicians don’t don’t know (breaking laws, committing murders), won’t hurt them (or us)’ leading to: 2)CIA operations officers who are culturally so selfcentered, center ed, narcissistic and vain, there is no qualm felt whatsoever at sending repentant jihadists, even innocents into intrigues, as pawns in circumstance that often gets them killed, to further any objective, no matter how minimal or trivial the gain, attended by the thinking 2 wrongs or 10 wrongs or 100 wrongs can add up to make something ‘right’ for the  American people [by a virtually lawless CIA] One gets a sense the author/book deliberately cheats certain social realities to promote a fantasy ideology, and one gets this is how a ‘body of lies’ so to speak, is  fed to the agents who worship this author. author. The simplistic  protagonist is a CIA officer officer with a ‘conscience’ who falls  for the books heroine who does charity work in refugee refugee camps, with plot set in the radicalized Islamic world of the ‘war on terror.’

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She works on his head with a principled demand he cannot be CIA and have a future with her because  someone has to be the ‘good American face’ with a demonstrable commitment to social justice for the  Palestinians. But this aspect of the plot altogether fails to convince because the author hammers on a theme of ‘they all want to kill us’ [Americans] without any delving  AT ALL into the WHY. WHY. There is zero honest history presented [zero history in There  fact, as though it were too embarrassing to present present to the reader] re ader] of the long time habit ha bit of the CIA and other western intelligence agencies manipulation/exploitation of the Islamic world on behalf of western economic models (corporate boards) with deceits, corruption and violence.  In this novel, Murder Inc (CIA) happily runs amok murdering mur dering with patriotic spin while going after Murder  Inc Jr (Al Qaida) with no end in sight and no honest attending story line of how we had arrived in this circumstance. Our CIA operational officer protagonist dutifully follows orders he knows will get people killed without cause, rhyme or reason, repeatedly, repeatedly, and demonstrates little conscience in this regard, if only it might lead to one moree ‘tip’ and in fact it is obvious he [or the author] only mor is capable of caring when it comes to the woman he thinks he wants to fuck for the rest of his life, a portrait in actuality of a sociopath (at odds with any suggestion the man has real feelings.) Her character is developed

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almost entirely on chauvinist habit of per perception, ception, what a  great  gre at lay she is, and no aspect of her ‘caring’ in the  purported social cause is developed, bringing across the idea the author (and his fans) are in fact incapable of any depth in this regar regard. d. The sympathy for Islam set in the book is mainly based in admiration for duplicity, duplicity, and underlines the idea Islamic culture is based on a principle of ‘dissembling’, and there is no ‘ordinary’ Muslim character developed in any  sense of a sympathetic human understanding (other than admired as a fellow killer in the trade.) In fact the books ‘happily ever after’ a fter’ ending strongly sends the th e message theree is none, and cannot ther cann ot be, any American with Muslim heritage accepted as a patriot or trusted to work honestly  for CIA.  Body of Lies would be excellent reading reading for the ideologically driven intelligence agent who wished to keep his or her head in the sand and promote killing without conscience while maintaining the self-deceit a worthwhile action and patriotic goal is pursuit of western economic domination (modern corporate board colonialism.) .. no different to On the Road would be excellent reading for anyone who wished to deviously and simultaneously glorify and excuse dissolute excess.

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2

Chapter two opens with Cassady welcoming his lover Kerouac who is unable to grasp how it is Robinson would see him as the devil incarnate set out to destroy her life. In Kerouac’s absence, Cassady has been stalking Henderson, a self-admitted ‘Peeping Tom’ he is painting her a prostitute by claiming (in Kerouac’s rendition of the ‘facts’) she is sleeping with every sailor in town, there is no consciousness of any double standard even if this were to be true. That Kerouac has it in for Henderson is quite obvious and we know he has a propensity to smear the characters he does not like. Cassady claims he smoked bad weed and went out of his mind, tracked down Henderson with a gun and told her one of them had to die. He hits her so s o hard he breaks his thumb and wrist but claims she was not hurt. Henderson marries a guy who tells Cassady he’ll kill him if he ever comes near her and now Robinson, while shouting “Liar!” at Cassady throws Kerouac and Cassady out of the house and their new episode of partying can begin. And finally Kerouac has the unmitigated gall to express an almost fatherly sentiment towards Cassady, a concern actually quite accurately approximating a pedophile ‘mentor of promising but disadvantaged young men.’  Narcissism  Narci ssism  Don’t you think..?  Don’t One said.

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 No, I feel.. Said another.  Insecurity,  Insecurity,  Passion-aggression  Is missing  Having been loved All success’ measur measures es Sole accomplishment  Nurtured image, image,  Not feeling. Where is the child? Where  No love reflects reflects  Passive-affection’ss  Passive-affection’ Cold desire to be acknowledgedThis trick Of self in glass is: The thief Of self at last. To be loved  For what you are NOT Could be The most important thing, so Why..  Hate that Which refuses To be you?

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3

Kerouac convinces Cassady to abandon Robinson and his child again, they determine to party in San Francisco for two days and then head for Denver. A newly married friend is strong armed into leaving his wife, to chauffer them about the Bay Area bar scene, Cassady having had his car repossessed. Kerouac and Cassady now go looking to round up fellow dissolute excuse for humanity, to share in the upcoming debauchery. They find Hinkle’s wife at home, and she tells the men off, what a bunch of worthless fucks they are and how they destroy women’s lives, specifically naming Robinson and Henderson. Kerouac pins all accusations from Hinkle, together with responsibility for all episodes of their criminal behavior on Cassady, we know this is a lie because Hinkle has been in direct contact with Robinson and Robinson clearly points the finger at Kerouac being the instigator of the misery  brought into into her life. Kerouac Kerouac is in the classic trap of having told so many lies he cannot keep track of them all, the original lies, the lies made up to cover for the lies in the first instance, his entire narrative falls apart for anyone who’d care to examine the facts as opposed to worshiping the perpetrator. Kerouac, Cassady, Burroughs and Ginsberg are horizons  beyond ethically ethically filthy people. people. They They are evangelists for for a misogynist criminal immorality. That Ann Charters could, in her introduction to this book, have glossed over this fact with her passing, pale excuse “prevailing

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attitude towards women of that era” or whatever were the unconscionable unconscion able and inexcusable verbiage she’d used, is little different to the present day Catholic church denial of reality in regards to institutionalized misogyny misogyny and resultant homosexual pedophilia, and to be even-handed, you will find similar denial in any fundamentalist group with a certain fable at the core of its culture’s founding, the lie of a woman responsible for all of our world’s ills on account of an apple and her collusion with a snake.  Riddle  A recipe recipe for abandonment wrought empathy and compassion only to see this put away by empathy and compassion. What both is, and declines to be, truth?

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4

Kerouac would have you believe the woman who’d just written Cassady (and no doubt himself) off as deserving of nothing less than being shot dead for their behavior towards women, now goes on to party with Cassady and himself. In this way Kerouac paints Helen Hinkle a crass hypocrite. Next, the women walk out, embarrassed by Kerouac supposedly having nothing more than innocent fun (that smells bad) and the method employed to seduce the reader is to elevate the Black musicians and their undoubtedly deserving music in an exaggerated way (one wonders what they might have thought about their audience, were they have to read Kerouac’s book.) The incredible hypocrisy of denigrating a ‘fairy’ in attendance jumps out, recalling Kerouac is a closet gay. Burroughs and Ginsberg make cameo appearances over the two day span of drunken self-inflicted stupidities, stupidities, then Kerouac and Cassady slip out of town like the cowards they are, no doubt for fear of certain women. We knew how to party and our women loved us. Hal and  Randy had come up with a 1932 MAC freight truck, built a dance floor on the back with stereo and keg rack, the  summer of 1969 was on! ‘Marten City Mac’ partied up and down ‘the line’, at Lion Lake, Emery Bay, among other spots and when the traveling party on the back of a classic truck with trailing caravan had become too noticeable (not good for the Glacier Park tourist destination image) and the Montana Highway Patrol had

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 staked out our area, we stayed closer closer to home and took our week to week ongoing party to ‘the burner.’ ‘The burner’ burner ’ was a very large steel tipi shaped structure at an abandoned sawmill in the forest outside of Coram.  Furnished with carpets, beds, arm chairs, whatever was donated or could be salvaged from discards, with a huge bonfire in the center, ‘the burner’ had been the scrap wood disposal system for the sawmill and in fact had been the sawmill’s ‘burner.’ Forty kids could party inside without seeming over-cr over-crowded. owded.  Not far away was Lake Five .. and to give some idea of country boy antics that happen for no particular good reason, re ason, one day Mike O. had rounded me up, he had a couple of cases of beer and just the two of us went for a row around around the lake in a 14 ft aluminum boat, drinking all the while. We We had gotten pretty damn drunk while rowing around around and swapping stories. Of course one will eventually have to piss in this state and I stood up and was wizzing over the side of the boat into the lake when  Mike decided to have fun with that and began rocking rocking the boat to make taking a leak into the lake a challenge.  Damn drunk as I was, I’d balance problems to begin with, having to find sea legs in a rocking boat was giving me concern because we did not have life jackets ja ckets and I was cognizant enough to re realize alize drunks can’ can’tt necessarily  swim all that well. Or maybe I just did not want to go overboard and with my whang hanging out at that.

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While trying to keep my balance, and the piss over the  side accurately, accurately, I started cussing cease and desist orders in vivid language and suddenly Mike gave up and collapsed in a heap of hysterics. I failed to see what could be so absolutely entertaining but the boat was drifting in such a way, as I continued pissing, it turned turn ed  slowly and into my fogged vision, which suddenly  focused, I saw the Lake Five Resort lawn and swimming dock with wide-eyed tourists in bathing suits, everyone of them staring in a state of perfect disbelief, at a distance of about thirty yards.

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5

Chapter 5 opens with: “The car belonged to a tall thin fag..” as Kerouac and Cassady catch a ride to Denver, Cassady calls it a “fag Plymouth” and goes on to remark “Effeminate car!” These two have SERIOUS manhood issues, and one [this writer] expects had they been born into the wealth and power of the military-industrial military-industrial complex, they’d easily have become fraternal brothers of those many generals who conceal their true sexual orientation as they’d ‘made their manhood’ mark with careers cluster bombing civilians and placing the women they’re incapable of actually caring for, on pedestals. Kerouac goes on ecstatically about saxophone as though the instrument were an erection; in terms of ‘blow’, ‘blows’, ‘blowing’, followed on by “throbbing poles.” Meanwhile the other people on the ride are beginning to worry about the (certainly Benzedrine fueled) madness in Kerouac and Cassady. Cassady attempts to hustle “the fag” for money, male prostitution comes up. Cassady, when it’s his turn at the wheel, entertains himself and Kerouac with a demonstration of everything you should never do while driving, actually doing it and frightening the bejezus out of the other people in the car who are  plainly happy happy to be rid of Kerouac Kerouac and Cassady Cassady in Denver, time to time a smidgen of truth slips into Kerouac’s narrative. Gender is certainly considered a complex and interesting thing. Yet were something ever so simple? By

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comparison, juxtaposed to western languages, American  Indian language is gender rich, inclusive of many degrees of androgyny On the other hand, h and, male hierarchal order (western language and civilization) with few and simple gender expression, expr ession, has a high degree of repressed repressed homosexuality rooted in artificial masculine narcissism and denial (monotheism/ego) perpetrating a fear-based suppression of precisely one half of innate human intelligence, that is,  feminine intelligence. It’s It’s as simple as a fable blaming all of our world’s world’s ills on a woman, apple and snake, (on ( on the  Planet of the Killer-Homosexual Frogs) Frogs)  And when I say this, I am not speaking of the ‘symptom’ of repressed repressed women in western civilization based cultures, culture s, but the reality of the suppressed feminine intelligence in western culture’s largely male mentality, where most men likely never gave two seconds thought to the fact all of us have a ‘pair’ ‘pair ’ of brains, one masculine and one feminine, that is our left and right hemispheres  America's homophobic (repressed (repressed homosexual) religious religious right worships a fantasy figure bearing no resemblance to the Jesus of history, in fact their's could be called 'Himmler's Jesus' Jesus' .. a sort of Nazi deity with relationship relationship to the tea party similar to Hitler's relationship relationship to Albert Speer (on the Planet of the Killer-Homosexual Frogs) The notoriously evil Michael 'Dr Egghead' Hayden has called for a cyber-version of Blackwater which would result re sult in homophobic neo-con hyper-extr hyper-extremist emist virtual reality re ality mercenaries loosed with hacking tools in the name of 'national security.’ We live in a science fiction

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horror movie to a greater extent everyday, everyday, when fantasy is merging with reality (on the Planet of the Killer Homosexual Frogs) Frogs) "The Jesus loves nukes speech" .. just the simple fact of neo-con "chaplains" teaching the ethics of launching nuclear weapons for the United States Air Force should loosen the bowels of about everyone on the planet (of the  Killer-Homosexual Frogs) Frogs)  And what of the women attracted to these violent repressed re pressed homosexual males, inclusive of women truly tru ly worthy of wearing ‘pant suits’ like Michelle Bachmann & Sarah Palin? Terrified they might ‘discover’ they are gay, were the western male mentality (includes ‘Bull Dykes’  Bachmann & Palin) to admit sincere feminine qualities qualities (we all have them, it is hard-wired into how are our brains are built) in defiance of the western culture’s monotheist model's narc n arcissist issist masculinity, rather than a healthy mental androgyny (a truly heterosexual  psychology) where people are allowed to express express natural  proclivities,  procliv ities, instead you have an angry repressed repressed homosexual civilization that could be called: ‘Planet of the killer-homosexual frogs’  frogs’ 

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6

Kerouac opens ripping on gays when Cassady has said something pissed him off : “I’m no old fag like that fag” and the Cassady gets all hurt and has been crying over Kerouac in such a way Kerouac makes him out to be like a woman in the way chauvinist men make women out to  be weak. It is interesting interesting interaction interaction as one might expect expect  between a ‘man ‘man of the house’ house’ stereotype and and his woman with hurt feelings. It is interesting emotion not having  been expressed expressed in any sense towards towards any woman woman to now. now. Kerouac denies responsibility for being at fault for anything in this world. The chapter is developing into a rip on Cassady, similar to the idea you should never  befriend someone someone whose favorite favorite epithet is ‘Judas ‘Judas Priest!’ Kerouac pins a pedophile lust on Cassady over a 13 years girl but it is unconvincing, his perceptionsdescriptions are too intimate-personal. This must be Kerouac’s own behavior described. The “committed Catholic spiritualist’ Kerouac ‘protects’ the girl from Cassady, closing out the chapter.  Do Not Be Like The Hypocrites  Jesus is almost certainly the most misrepr misrepresented esented man in history. 'The Christ' is established in scholarship as an invention [lie] by the so-called St Paul, adopted by the church, churc h, and smears s mears the reputation of the historical Jesus [a great teacher] by adapting Gr Greek eek paganism rites that tha t turned animal sacrifice into the Christian ritual human  sacrifice and cannibalism known as 'Communion.' Any

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rational person who will like to know the history behind these facts need only look into the re research search of 'The Jesus Seminar.'  A gesture gesture of respect respect to the authentic, historical Jesus would be to explicitly condemn any reference reference to Jesus'  so-called 'sacrifice' claiming his blood had been shed to 'save' people, the most perverted belief ever to contribute to the collective madness of Western civilization infecting the world. I've yet to meet a Christian Chr istian professing blood  sacrifice 'salvation' open to reason reason and learning, insofar as understanding how much harm these sort of archetype myths do, particularly in relation to perverting the minds of children and desensitizing people to human slaughters on a grand scale. Talk about pornography pornography.. If human sacrifice and ritual cannibalism as base foundation for a culture do not make a pornographic culture, I can't imagine anything that does.  Maybe it's time to practice a bit of common sense and  simply create create a social scene where where these images are are not welcome and let people wonder what it might be like to live 'beyond the pale' or be 'tempted' so to speak, to discover the possibilities when they are willing to step beyond the fear mongering and necr n ecrotic otic bonds of ignorance. We We live in a literate world these days,  perversions of history should no longer serve as instrument of superstition created by the power corrupt to control people through fear. There is no healthy rationale to provide hospitality to There any being harboring such absolute social poisons the

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image of blood sacrifice entails. I certainly don't need it in my life.  Jesus should not be associated with hate mongering and mainstream mainstre am Christian dogma is chock full of invented hate, this evil is not limited to the religious right. From the misogynist story of 'The Fall' to Cain and Abel requiring re quiring blood sacrifice to ‘God’ it just goes on and on.  It's time to acquire sanity sanity,, quit ritually killing and eating  Jesus and genuinely healthy people would want no associations with people who do that. Particularly the  people who push the idea Jesus tortured to death is a  good thing (as though on a billboard) but consider: Are Are those who quietly celebrate this killing and eating of a human being any better?  According to Robert W.  According W. Funk, Roy W. W. Hoover and the  Jesus Seminar- The Five Gospels: The Search for the MacMillan an  Authentic Words Words of Jesus. New York: MacMill  Publishing Company, Company, 1993: “For Paul, the Christ was to be understood as a dying/  rising lord, symbolized in baptism (buried with him, raised with him), of the type he knew from the hellenistic [Greek] mystery religion religions. s. In Paul’ Paul’ss theolo theological gical scheme,  Jesus the man played no essential role.” role.” “Eighty-two percent of the words ascribed to Jesus in the  gospels were not actually spoken by him, according to the Jesus Seminar.” “The church appears to smother the historical Jesus by  superimposing this heavenly figure on him in the creed: creed:  Jesus is displaced by the Christ, as the so-called

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 Apostle’ss Creed  Apostle’ Creed makes evident.” “Words borrowed from the fund of common lore or the Greek Gr eek scriptures are are often put on the lips of Jesus.” “The evangelists frequently attribute their own  statements to Jesus.” “We know that “We th at the evangelists not infrequently ascribed Christian words to Jesus-they made him talk like a Christian, when, in fact, he was only the precursor of the movement that was to take him as its cultic hero.” “Jesus rarely makes pronouncements pronouncements or speaks about himself in the first person. Jesus makes no claim to be the Anointed, the messiah.” “Jesus taught that the last will be first and the first will be last. He admonished his followers to be servants of everyone. He urged humility as the cardinal virtue by both word word and example. example. Given these terms, it is difficult to imagine Jesus making claims for himself- I am the son of God, I am the expected One, the Anointed- unless, u nless, of course, he thought that nothing he said applied to himself.” The historical Jesus was a healer/teacher having nearly nothing to do with churc church h teaching, hate mongering actually,, and a reasonable person should be able to see actually the good in Jesus teaching has been buried, notably, among other things Jesus had stated: “You “Y ou cannot serve God and an d money” While the Catholic church has fought tooth and nail to keep pedophilia scandals under wraps to preserve

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church churc h property and finances fina nces from lawsuits and, “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’ Caesar’s” s”  As ultra-right Catholic bishops have devoted themselves to undermining secular constitutions and rule ru le of law. law.

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7

Chapter 7 opens with Kerouac and a quart of Old Grandad whiskey, as he continues to impugn the character of Cassady while taking no responsibility at all for the company he keeps or his part in their criminal  behaviors. He pins pins a dangerous dangerous new scene over over another  barely pubescent pubescent girl on Cassady Cassady, one can only wonder wonder whether it is actually Cassady, and in case of projecting his own behaviors, if he is honest about the sex of the child. What we likely see developing here is, Kerouac cannot  bring Cassady home home to his mother mother,, having promised promised to take him hi m back to the east coast and Kerouac Kero uac ALW ALWAYS runs home to his mom. So Cassady has to be trashed in order to justify dumping him or justify making him vanish. That Kerouac has a large hand invested in destroying Robinson’s attempted bringing stability to Cassady, to live responsibly, would never occur to him. Kerouac makes himself out a kind and caring father figure to children at the house where they are staying, even as he has been drinking hard liquor in the kids  presence and is generating a scene scene drawing their their mother into going with Cassady and himself on a roaring drunken spree about town. Cassady steals five cars over the course of the morons’ day of partying, Kerouac helps him dispose of the last one, so it won’t be sitting at the house where they will be passing out.

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Going to accountability in Native humor, humor, I have a crosscultural observation: morality masks a plethora of behaviors ethics cannot. Native American humor was all about ethics, that is no matter how harsh a truth, it must be out in the open at the least as a metaphor, metaphor, the purpose in Native humor is all about keeping things honest. So, I will write about an Indian, a culturally intact Indian.  Imagine the insanity of a tribal mentality taught to observe and honestly re remark mark on the world around them  suddenly cast adrift into the ego shielding 'Honky' sea of  political correctness. correctness. Now, Now, this native mentality is only certifiably insane because of context, or better said, an out of context circumstance. This is because in the native world from which he had sprung, politically correct is actually a buzz word for the circling buzzards buzzards of Indian In dian humor,, any Native who hears the words 'politically humor correct' is apt to drop everything and listen in to the most recent re cent wisdom and insight (always (a lways in the format of the often untranslatable to the Whiteman 'Indian Humor') ripping the people who trashed 200 years of treaties and moved on pretending as though nothing had happened. hap pened. This endeavor goes to shatter stereotype of the 'taciturn'  Indian which is actually a reflection reflection of the little understood Native cultural communication phenomena of rather than say something honest to a Whiteman that threatens thre atens the Whiteman's ego and be killed for saying it,  just shut up.  Now, for simple literary device sake, we will make this  Now,  Indian 1) White skinned and 2) the last of his kind. How could this happen and the said Native persona is alive in

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the 21st century, century, a full 150 years since the Native custom of a White captive child raised to be Indian? Well now, to be honest in the Native way, we must address this portion of the literary endeavor with a joke  story drawn from real real life, a sort of collage of facts assembled from bits and pieces of diverse experience, combined with anecdotal information to create the culturally intact inherent Native wisdom found in their humor.  In other words, parts of the story from from here out are an autobiographical facts incorporated rip-off of other  peoples life stories and experience. And because unlike the White world, the Native world entertains paradox in daily approach to life, some more of what follows is  simply made up from from the imagination's fund of plausible improbabilities. We'll call the Indian In dian “Ron” although althou gh his native name in the Cree Indian country he hails from is 'Moon-i-Yas' 'Moon-i-Yas' which can be translated either "Not like us" or "Paleface." In “Ron's” case it is "Paleface" when  properly translated, translated, because the other translation applies to people who act like Whites, rather than look like them.  And by Native definition, “Ron” is Indian on account of his cultural behavior behavior,, his 'pale face' simply being unfortunate circumstance or, better said from the Indian  perspective, that peculiar cosmic joke of life circumstance cir cumstance which one way or other manifests the Trickster aspect in all Native experience.

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To kick off the story, back in the late 1940s there were  people just like today's truly Honky folk, real real White  people, that behaved in all sorts of self- repressed repressed ways and repressed repressed their own kids because of their staunch  Puritan belief in H.L. Menecken's maximum that 'proper' 'proper'  Puritans must preoccupy themselves themselves with the horrifying thought "Someone, somewhere, might be happy." So they learned to follow Jesus command to 'love' by 'loving' to hate.  Because of the 'love' factor in 'loving' to hate themselves, their kids and their fellow man, making 'love' is more often a rape than not, 'loving' their brothers and sisters is 'loving' to tell other people how to live their lives, and 'loving' security is to cr create eate an insecure society so they can 'love' the idea of a police state.  Now the daughters of these fundamentalist people, whether the arch-conservative Protestant Protestant or the ultraconservative Catholic, are not so different to some of today's young women, raised in families that with bared  fangs dare anyone to so much as mention sex to their children childre n let alone have it taught anywhere other than at the kegger parties of the young people, who learn to hide the realities of their lives from their parents because you are punished whether you lie or tell the truth. So lying becomes in vogue because if you are young and you lie,  you might not be caught and punished for enjoying  yourself, whereas whereas if you tell the truth you will be  punished every time. So impromptu sex education at the young peoples parties  gives a whole new meaning to expressions expressions such as

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'powerpoint' and the many unwed young mothers resulting re sulting are simply one manifestation of God's will and  Jesus commandment that people 'love' (other peoples misery,, whether Neil Cassady, Michelle Bachmann, Jack misery  Kerouac,  Ker ouac, or Sarah Palin and the Puritans.)  As fate would have it, in the late 1940s a young Catholic  girl had gone from her conservative family upbringing and all girls school, wher wh eree the nuns would not no t touch sexed with the proverbial ten foot pole, in Chicago, to college at Gonzaga in Washington Washington State where she was introduced to sex as a sorority girl by innumerable happy to oblige young men .. at a t the 'Girls Gone Wild' parties before the era of exploiting these events on video. Concealing her inevitable pregnancy from her far away  folks, not having known what a condom is, she was driving home to Chicago with her new born, this was in 1950, give or take a year or so, and dropped the infant off on the doorstep at the Catholic Rectory at Havre,  Montana, with a note pinned on the swaddling infants dress: dre ss: "Ron"  A Chippewa Medicine Man from from the nearby Rocky Boy’s Boy’s  Indian Reservation was at the cinema close by, by, he enjoyed the classic 'Bugs Bunny' cartoons preceding the movie and paid his entry fee for that but then always left. The movies themselves were non-sense to him. Walking along the street, he noticed a dropped envelope,  picked it up and was surprised to see it was stuffed with cash. He noticed the black ink stamp of the Catholic

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 parish on the envelope and walked to give it to the priest at the rectory, rectory, and found foun d the infant. Stepping around the child and standing on the step above, he knocked and the priest answered the door. The  Medicine Man stated "I found your lost money" and handed the surprised priest the envelope. The priest, who hated this Medicine Man his Native  parishioners would sneak off to see behind his back,  shouted "Returning this money won't buy YOUR way out of Hell!" and slammed the door in the Indian’s Indian’s face, before he could tell him about the child. The Indian knocked several times more, and patiently waited, but there was no further fu rther opening of the door. door. So, he picked up the kid and took "Ron" home. Given to the Medicine Man's niece who had her own infant the same age, "Ron" was suckled, named "Moon-iYas", surrounded with love and the native joke the newly  found 'twin' was result of "Indian Immaculate Conception." No one of the Indians wanted to give the  found kid to the meaner than shit White people at Havre, Havre,  Montana, it just seemed wrong. wrong. When it came time to take the infants to the Indian  Agency for birth certificates and enrollment, enrollment, the Agency  people just figured they were fraternal twins and there was a White father of the one child. So "Ron" grew up  Indian. He moved to Al-boo-quark-ee in the southwest because of his fond memories of the old Medicine Man

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mimicking Bugs Bunny's pronunciation of that city's name. Sixty odd years after “Ron’ “Ron’s” s” birth, President Obama ordered order ed DNA tests on all a ll Indians to reduce the Native  Enrollment  Enrollme nt and save money better spent on wars and corporate militia than Indian health, kicking Indians that could not demonstrate 75% Native American blood off their reservations. It was discovered Moon-i-Yas, Moon-i-Yas, a.k.a. "Ron", was the last White captive and he became a national sensation. What bloodthirsty savage had murdered mur dered his family and kidnapped this child? And anyway, a White Indian had to be a subversive, the bloodthirsty murdering savages that raised "Ron" had to have imparted their pagan licentiousness to him. The  FBI was ordered ordered to investigate "Ron", it was a matter of 'National Security Security.' .'  Meanwhile “Ron” had discovered discovered a few things about White people. Like when an arch-conservative  fundamentalist Republican principal of a lily-white charter school surreptitiously run as a private Christian institution that doubled as a cover for intelligence agents masked as teachers who break every civil rights law you can imagine, have discovered you have raised your kid  Indian, all of the state apparatus is arrayed against you  for the satanic act of being an ultra-liberal permissive  parent. Aller Allergies gies causing red eyes eyes are interpreted interpreted as the child being a devil, but because ther th eree is no law to charge  you with for that, you are investigated for drugs. When  you are courageous courageous enough to fight back for your kid and call a spade a spade, it is 'undue hostility towards authority' and you are investigated for terrorism. Failing

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every effort at criminal entrapment and being counterinvestigated, assassins are dispatched by the neo-con hate mongers... and failing again and it again it all just keeps getting bigger- FBI criminals implicated,  Department of Defense criminals implicated, CIA criminals implicated, the criminal Church implicated, the  National Security Agency implicated, allied intelligence, intelligence,  MOSSAD particularly, particularly, implicated.. meanwhile the White,  Native American Jason Bourne-savant-idiot-tricksterclown has ‘pantsed’ the fascists again and again!  Because “Ron” really IS Indian, he fights back with taunts and satires, in the post –modern weapon of blogs. "Ron" taunts the establishment with the idea of "Jewels  Misogyny", wherein wherein these neo-con closet-gay institutions of accelerated education attended by the children of the military/industrial rich and powerful, only the brightest and most beautiful women teachers are hired… and must adopt masculine persona like so many ‘bull ‘bu ll dikes’ as have the Michelle Bachmanns and Sarah Palins of this world, women who consequently marry self-repressed self-repressed homosexuals attracted to these so-called women because of their male persona. They are all ‘men’ resembling nothing so much as castrated mannequins in drag. The end result? Either liberal women who hate themselves (Jewels Misogyny) for their participation in this travesty, travesty, job security being more important than ethics and fighting back or or,, women with "Acquired Ego  Priapism Syndrome" like like Michelle Bachman and Sarah  Palin or the 'imaginary' school principal. Women Women who behave like sexist and racist men. Woman-male Woman-male rapists of our values of tolerance and compassion, the liberal and

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libertarian values that are uniquely American, the ability to live and let live. Women Women of Bachmann and Palin's class which join with criminal-fascist men in covering up constitutional crimes with religious façade Obama is afraid to pick on. Of course the initial culture clash long ago was the  Indians being shocked at how harshly the Puritans treated tre ated their children, the cause of many a 'captive White' raised in Native freedom and, conversely the  Puritan horror at the liberty of the Native children children resulting re sulting in the practice of "The "Th e only good Indian is a dead Indian." Not so differe different nt to Palin's persecution of the Native Alaskan children with her racist drive to remove re move Native jurisdiction over Native child welfare.  Palin is a Honky (not hockey) mom, a Puritan White,  psychologically male, racist woman with Acquired Acquired Ego Priapism Syndrome, i.e. i.e. a chauvinist. What I mostly enjoy about this story is, in the modern  politically correct correct world where where only women can refer refer to a woman as a bitch, and get away with it, no differently than only gays may refer to themselves as queers or fags, only Blacks can call themselves Niggers or Asians can call themselves Gooks or Chinks, Mexicans self-refer as  Beaners, Jews calling themselves Kikes, Indians laughing at the idea of being Prairie Niggers, and Sheep bleat to themselves they are Meadow Maggots, without a hate crime referral, referral, this Indian author can call the right wing fascist White people in absolute racist terms "Honkies" and totally get away with it because he is White skinned. I say that especially because of Supreme Court Justice Alito referring to "Marauding Indians" in a

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context of self-defense in rec recent ent decision on firearms, I  suppose he thinks we should be hunted like wolves from  planes. But because no one ordinarily can comment on  physical attributes such as gender or skin color outside their own race or sex freely, this prevents in any  politically correct correct circumstance circumstance the real real or broad examination of the perverse Puritan sexist and racist  BEHAVIORS  BEHA VIORS tied to the descriptions which underlie  psychologically male Honky right wing criminal women like Bachmann and Palin who resemble nothing so much as the drag queens Neil Cassady and Jack Kerouac must have fantasized themselves, had they dared to be openly  gay.. Gee. Somehow the story did not end up funny.  gay funny. I'll work on that.

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8

In what is likely a stolen Cadillac, purportedly a limo they’ve been entrusted to drive to Chicago, Kerouac and Cassady pick up a pair of Jesuit students and take back roads out of the Denver region, stop at a ranch house to eat with people acquainted with Cassady, and not surprisingly, these folk appear relieved to see this crew shortly move on. They head north, to take the Nebraska route east, less populated, less traffic, and fewer cops. Cassady has already lost control and put the car into a ditch, damaging it. He continues to demonstrate amphetamine-induced behaviors. Kerouac, prior to having bailed out of the single mother’s home from where he’d initiated this latest chapter in an ongoing cross-country criminal spree, now running from the law, makes himself out to be a tender, devoted and caring father figure to the children who’ve witnessed (and possibly molested in the course of) this episode, in a much lionized ode to debauchery. One is amazed that once ‘On the Road’ had been published, Kerouac insists to the myriad reporters pursuing him, for years after, he is a “committed Catholic spiritualist.” In the paradox of things, this may be the one truly honest stance in life he’d ever taken.  I Wish Wish To To Introduce To To You You A Lie  A person might have the three three dimensions of no sense of  guilt, no shame and no fear of outcomes and be either  psychopath or highly evolved, depending on a peculiar

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circumstance… the absence or presenc circumstance… presencee of a fourth dimension. Going to the difference between values and ethics or, or,  sympathy and empathy, empathy, I will point out a typical social lie most of us are not aware of: the idea just because we can have values and express sympathy, sympathy, we are whole or complete beings. Values are meaningless without ethics or, the applied  principles which is the power actually to care care for  someone other than ourselves and be aware of the effects effects we might have in outcomes in other peoples lives, our responsibility re sponsibility for others we incur with the making of life choices impacting others, taking decisions.  Family, and children especially  Family, especially,, in order not to become emotional deserts, rather to be strong, require require in the beginning, exercising the paradox of a principled stand  precluding  pre cluding the emotion of sympathy. sympathy. Sympathy is a robber robber,, enabling feeling sorry for oneself.  People who express express sympathy enable themselves and others to feel sorry for themselves and are the ones contributing to the cycle of people dying inside, expressing expr essing and enabling sympathy only reinforces reinforces behaviors which are self serving and shallow shallow..  Empathy empowers. What is empathy? Empathy is the ability to set aside any self-serving emotion or motivation and know in some sense a compassion for the circumstance of another. Empathy as a capacity to care  for another can only be acquired via the discovery discovery of

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 principled behaviors or, or, better said, the fourth dimension of ethics which precludes any sense of o f real guilt, shame or fear, fear, in a positive sense of self. Empathy stems from a  positive sense of self-acceptance. Guilt, shame and fear taken together with sympathy are used to manipulate and control in the negative sense of  shaming, the shaming of children particularly. particularly. This teaches feeling sorry for the self, inculcates a blindness to positive outcomes and perversely too often creates a  self-centered  self-center ed numbness to negative motivations guilt,  fear and shame.  Here is created  Here created the emotional desert of no real real  personality,, a seeming wasteland devoid of the fourth  personality dimension of empathy and ethics: equaling what might be the hallmark of the psychopath. The psychopath knows: No sense of guilt for hurting others with their behaviors. No sense of shame for being  shallow without any real caring for a person outside their own self-centeredness. The psychopath knows no  sense of fear of consequences in relationships, relationships, is incapable of feeling or taking responsibility for damaging the emotions of people whose who se lives they shape and must rightfully depend on them for examples of  stability and a future, especially especially children. children.  All of this negative self-centeredness self-centeredness only can only come across as a life lived as a lie, whether sensed in the self or sensed by others. No matter how strongly values are expressed expr essed with language, the preceding only develops a

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heightened sense of self-worthlessness, to a point of numbness. Without applying a discipline to the self, a practical decision taken without self-pity, conforming the self to a certain principled stance with taking personal responsibility re sponsibility for those whose lives you must without question impact, negative reciprocity reciprocity must be b e the outcome. We lose our o ur children most often because of emotional disconnect. A principled stance applied to the self in relation re lation to ones behaviors can open the door to know empathy,, to discover caring for another and watering the empathy  seed of a healthy emotion.  No sense of guilt turned on the self rather than projected onto others, might enable a positive self-examination. No  sense of shame turned to the self-examination might enable opening space for what one could become. No  sense of fear to look at the shallowness of the self would  perhaps open one to grow grow inwardly, inwardly, to overcome overcome any  sense of worthlessness, even nothingness. The spirit of any child must become severed severed from the  parent who may have been been there in in every superficial aspect but was not there in the most important way way,, a way of showing the ability to model caring for the self inside. The self inside that knows to be both kind and  principled in example to the child, the self inside that knows to care for a child in the empathy of a spiritual relationship re lationship of peers that engenders a sense of loving

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admiration, the self inside which shares with a child the development of self respe respect. ct. Without these, a child can wither and become lost… we  so often lose these kids because we have provided provided no healthy sense of love, they are dying inside themselves and suddenly we may not see them again. Because they’d had no sense of being protected, they ceased caring about themselves in any healthy sense, they made poor p oor decisions, meeting life tragedies far too often.  I wish to introduce to you the lie your behaviors can only bring demise in your relationships with yourself and  family when in actuality you could be a short step away  from great ability of knowing what it could mean to discover to be alive inside, to know a sense of being loved such as only a child can bring to you, a sense of  self respect, respect, an opportunity to grow deeply, deeply, to discover and develop a real personality.  Principles which are applied to the self, ethics, not values superficially espoused, can serve to sustain life opportunity for those who must otherwise despair in ways children cannot know how to explain to you, on a road to one day become lost for having felt cast adrift, the emotional desert of having died inside. Conversely Conversely,, it is a simple sustained act of self-discipline that can lead to birth inside, to have a genuine personality. Both your child inside and your children will respond to you caring  for you. To be a child again, to explor exploree in small and simple ways together the marvels of our existence, to know childr children en

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will love you unconditionally because you become open to the idea you are valuable to them, let this rise from beneath the surface of having become numb to real emotion, to know what it means to be free, to explore the world anew with small friends that desire to know your  presence  pre sence intimately, intimately, deeply, deeply, those friends who depend on us, our children.  I wish to introduce to you the lie of your worthlessness,  shallowness, and incapability of becoming valued and deeply considerate in a reciprocal reciprocal love knowing the re real al meaning to care. I wish to introduce to you to the lie of  your being a psychopath.

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9

Having left Denver in a hung-over rush to get out of town ahead of the police, chapter 9 is one long description of Neil Cassady’s amphetamine fueled  psychotic criminal criminal endangerment endangerment of people people across several states, with long stretches of road driving over 100 miles per hour. Concluding in a stark admiration Kerouac states: “We had come from Denver [to Chicago] 1,180 miles, in exactly seventeen hours .. for a mean average of seventy miles per hour across the land .. with one driver.” In a way, Kerouac and Cassady remind me of Russell Means, likewise a hypocrite, self-aggrandizing liar, misogynist and criminal, and like people who admire Means, people who admire On the Road must lack confidence in their ability to be free, idolizing the wrong figures and overlooking a collective set of un-corrected  behaviors which which clearly amount amount to a damning damning indictment. indictment.  Russell Means would not know me from Adam, were we to meet, is my guess. So now I will remind him of what is not forgotten.  Russell and I go back over 30 years, to the International Treaty Councils held at Fort Belknap in Montana. I was invited by the Atsina members based on my association with the old Blackfoot Confederacy, The Kainah, Sisika,  Amskapi Pikuni, Skinee Pikuni, Sarcee, Sarcee, Atsina and  particularly because of my relationship relationship to the Pikuni  peoples.

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On one occasion I accepted, and generously donated considerable financial support to this American Indian  Movement event. Delegations from from numerous tribes attended, from the USA and Canada. My nephew nephew,,  Devalon Small Legs, from from an important family of Canadian AIM leaders of that time, attended from the Skinee Pikuni, I was the only Amskapi Pikuni present.  AIM had incorporated both political and spiritual movements, our Blackfoot confederated members tended to the spiritual side. The difference is, the spiritual  people understand that to be Native American is  primarily a way of life, a lived philosophy. philosophy. I am White.  But I grew up bi-culturally Native American, with relationships re lationships in the Native community from my youth. My  Pikuni spiritual people had always honored this. Also my  Plains Ojibwe and Cree peoples. peoples.  Russell’s AIM people did not even bother to inquire  Russell’s inquire when they met me, they saw a Whiteman, judged me on that  fact solely and Russell accordingly accordingly has been a fool for over thirty years. Indian people should never have to be instructed to be civil in their Native community community.. On top of about $700 out of pocket to help feed the  International Treaty Treaty Council event event and provide some travel money, a lot of money both for myself and that community in that era, I had brought in some non-native  people with open minds. I wished to create empathy empathy,, open channels of dialog and raise awareness in the outside world concerning the cruel apartheid system our  subjugated tribes suffer. suffer.

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 Russell’s AIM delegation killed that. The only people  Russell’s  from the Means camp to visit our camp, came to make  pointed racial insults. It was so bad, my Blackfoot confederacy people and Atsina hosts had to call a special meeting simply to insist we be treated in a civil way way.. It never happened (civility from Russell’s Russell’s people) but the worst of the insults ceased. So much for dialog.  At a subsequent meeting attended by Russell and myself in Great Falls, Montana, Russell had to be pointedly told  I could participate in the Pipe Ceremony Ceremony by my nephew  Devalon, the AIM spiritual leader for that event. That was the last and only time I had personally met Russell, but I have kept an eye on him since.  I am related related to the Gophers, a plains Ojibwe family. family. I am not close to all of them, I will say it is for reasons more more traditional people would understand. However I did know Robert Gopher, a key International Treaty Council  supporter,, quite well. To  supporter To be fair, fair, I will say Robert was a well intended but bullheaded and not the brightest man. When our relative, a Gopher kid, was to be sentenced for manslaughter,, a re manslaughter result sult of drinking and driving, Robert asked Russell Means for help. That was a big mistake. The kid was guilty as hell, with multiple prior offences, and instead of opening a civil dialog in the community concerning why these things too often happen in the repression re pression of enforced poverty, poverty, Russell shot his mouth off to the press to the effect the prosecution of the kid amounted to “racism.” That was pretty rich, based on my experience with Russell. His “racist prosecution”  statement was all over the Montana newspapers, it

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 pissed off the judge and the book was thrown at the Gopher kid, he got the maximum possible sentence the  prosecutor  prosec utor was asking for, for, 100 years. When I met the author of ‘In the Spirit of Crazy Horse’,  Peter Mattheissen, we had a short conversation about  Russell. I told Peter that Russell is a “really big asshole” and Peter agreed with me “Yes, “Yes, Russell is a very big asshole, but he is an important asshole to his people.”  I respectfully respectfully disagree with with Peter. Peter. There is only one important asshole in Indian country country,, and that asshole is Old Man Coyote.  Russell went on to bail out of Sundance and dumped his  Montana Sundancers in the middle of vows, that made the newspapers with tribal spiritual leaders pointedly upset, he rode off into the sunrise, when he got a call to be a movie star in Iroquois country. country. It would be fitting he  played a bad guy. guy.  And it came out the non-violent AIM educator, educator, Annie  May Aquash, was murder murdered ed by the Means faction of AIM, the order to kill Annie was given out of a meeting held in a Means brother’ brother’ss kitchen. Like Peter Mathiassen and many others, I had believed it was corrupt law enforcement had murdered Annie, but that was Russell’s  AIM faction line of bullshit. It hurt, that one. Some of our  Indian people are no better than the goons who persecute us.  And then, Russell’s Russell’s wife called 911 911 in New Mexico because he was beating her.

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 Finally, Russell tried to run for tribal council, the most  Finally, corrupt and re repressive pressive banana republic regime regime you can imagine, tribal councils being completely in violation of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and habitual offenders against Native American human rights and a mainstay of the American apartheid system  for Indians.  I am not aware Russell has ever corrected corrected himself in these matters.  In the Indian way, way, when you have made mistakes, they must be confessed. Russell had stated: “For the world to live, Europe must die.” Russell should better look at killing the “Europe” in himself. Because the ego of the Whiteman, also known as refusing to learn and corre correct ct oneself, is fatal to what it means to be Indian- that is to become generous, gentle, kind and loving people who live in a beautiful way way..  People should, in the circumstance circumstance of Russell presenting himself as a role model for our young people, question whether Russell actually is an authentic Indian who has overcome great adversity or, sadly, whether the facts  point to Russell as a failed and angry trash product of the Boarding School legacy legacy.. This is something Russell clearly has never grasped as a concept; he has never walked the walk. Insofar as the  facts speak for themselves, in the old Native way, way, Russell  Means is without character or substance, the man is a ‘nothing person.’

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10

Hiding the Cadillac is the first priority of business when arrived in Chicago, reinforcing the thought the car had  been stolen. After cleaning up and recovering recovering the Cadillac to go out and party all night, Kerouac describes the jazz takes and names the greats and their legacy while at the clubs, one wonders what the musicians might have thought of his making their performance into a metaphor for fellatio. Cassady finishes the job of ruining the car while they’re out and about. Purportedly turning in the now destroyed Cadillac [with California plates] to its owner in Chicago, leaving the car off with quick getaway, Kerouac closes with: “We never heard a word about the condition of the car .. in spite of the fact he had our address and could have complained.” Throughout this book, there has been a consistent theme Throughout of exploiting young, vulnerable and/or impressionab impressionable le women. One can only wonder how much damage occurs from the fallout of being lied to by handsome and sincere seeming young con-men, to get laid and nothing more, how many of these women realize, and how soon and following how many negative experiences, the priorities of western culture’s males stand no higher than those of male Chimpanzees searching out opportunities to breed.  Breakfast  Breakf ast at a Pizzaria  Britz, a southern suburb of Berlin, I had once described as more than dead, actually dead and embalmed. It is the

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most ‘German’ area I’ve encountered in this city, which is more typically multi-cultural, vibrant and alive.  I had been staying with a friend over the weekend, and on Saturday morning walked to find an out of doors café  for early breakfast breakfast and coffee. In this large suburban area are a with few opportunities for culture in any sense, s ense, theree is a reasonably large ther large shopping center located at the  JohannesThalerChausee [Germans run words together like a double mouthful of pasta] underground station, where there are several possibilities for uninteresting  food. But only the pizzaria has pleasant out of doors  seating .. with a typical German breakfast breakfast menu. So my decision had been made for me.  Here in Berlin’s  Here Berlin’s spiritual center for the German ‘I hate my life’ culture, I had an interesting hour’s observation. The pizzaria’s waitresses obviously have been hired for their sex appeal, and are apparent ‘high maintenance’  personalities who despise working Saturday mornings  for any number of possible reasons but the most obvious reason is they’d had a ‘real’ Friday night preceding. There was one on shift when I’d arrived at opening hour There (9 AM) and all of 3 customers to begin the pizzaria’s day. She came and took my order with the forced and pained  smile that typifies the mainstream mainstream German philosophy: ‘I hate my life.’ Her amazing bum might offset this for some of the customers, perhaps a calculated ploy of management.

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Waiting 40 minutes for my food (to her credit, my coffee arrived in 20) my typically agile mind took in the  surroundings.  Berlin’s urban sparrows have adapted to scavenging  Berlin’s crumbs from beneath the tables at the out of doors cafés, but have not evolved patience with the slow deployment of possibilities on Saturday mornings. One of them, communicating irritation at my providing no timely  sustenance to her growing family, family, took the opportunity to  perch  per ch directly directly above my head and aimed a defecation directly dire ctly my way. I saw the danger and dodged the bomb. Then my coffee had arrived and thinking to dispel further danger,, I broke the little graham cracker that came with danger the coffee into bits the size of a match head and flicked them ten or so feet away from me, to preoccupy the  sparrows. One of the other customers watched watched all the while with the typical German look of disapproval, disa pproval, which was supposed to halt my anti-social behavior behavior..  But this was not nearly as important to me as placating the angry birds.  At 30 minutes, the waitress reappeared reappeared with a plate, napkin and utensils, as well as senseless salt and pepper pepper,, but not my food, and I only was pleasant to her. her. Over the past ! hour preceding, two more waitresses had manifest, slowly, as though eternity were about to begin, concluding the previous night’s passion play. These two had arrived consecutively, consecutively, first to drink a coffee and smoke in their civilian clothes, and suddenly

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turned out in uniform to work the morning shift. The very  pretty  pre tty and buxom dark haired German was hung-over to a point of near nausea, it was plain to see, while the  strikingly beautiful Mediterranean woman who followed with identical ritual caffeine and nicotine prior to morphing into mere hired help, looked upon her morning world with a despise that was plainly remarkable. Clearly,, she’d been the Queen of Sheba Clearly Sh eba in a previ previous ous incarnation, and only hours before at that. The customer base had swelled to five in the meanwhile, an old German couple that epitomize the Britz neighborhoods had wandered in, he wanted only to sit down, she hen picked and badgered him across across the vast  seeming several meters distance of the pizzaria patio with obvious superiority of aesthetic taste for seating at identical tables. Sniping [her] and whining [him] for what certainly could not have been five minutes but in reality re ality seemed five eternities, while making this life challenging decision, it sinks in why a recent poll of Germans not surprisingly discover discovered ed old people are more a social irritant in this nation than Islamic extremists.  At minute 40 [approximately] [approximately] my two bread rolls, rolls, one  slice of cheese, four assorted slices of salami and diced various fruits had arrived, all the while the three waitresses waitre sses had managed to look incredibly busy but in actuality had been gossiping, using the cell phone,  smoking and commiserating, but above all, loving to hate a circumstance of rising from the dead against their will on a Saturday morning.

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The sparrows were were not in the least interested in a slice of banana I’d inadvertently fumbled and landed on the  patio surface where almost certainly a hung-over woman with a beautiful bum would have stepped on it. I thoughtfully retrieved the errant fruit about the time management had arrived. Dr Dressed essed like a handsome ha ndsome  young Don out of a Mafia movie, whether in reality or  for stereotype stereotype or deliberate image sake, one could only wonder whether he’d stipulated ‘high maintenance’ & ‘I hate my life’ embodied in striking beauty, relating to contracts for employment or if this were purely a  subliminal demand.  Having finished my breakfast breakfast in a respectable respectable 20 minutes  from arrival on my table, not quite wolfing it down, but wanting away from the sparrows now threatening me like  Hitchcock’ss ‘Birds’, I drew  Hitchcock’ drew an almost genuine if  stuttering, uncertain smile of sincere sincere wishing to express express  gratitude, when I tipped my waitress one Euro, Euro, as though  she could not believe ..

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11

Bailing out of Chicago in a hurry, the two dissolute derelicts leer at and hustle women in unending amphetaminee psychosis, spend a night in a movie theatre, amphetamin freak out a family they’ve caught a ride with and land in  New York where Kerouac’ Kerouac’ss mom, predictably predictably,, denies Cassady residence. Cassady, quickly takes up with another woman, and is negotiating his 2 nd divorce by long distance phone with Robinson who has just given  birth to his 2nd child. At this point, Cassady has four abandoned children by three abandoned women. He is 23 years old. His ‘mentor’ Kerouac is 27.

End of Part Three  Answer to the riddle at the conclusion of chapter three:  Empathy and compassion are wasted on anyone who demands the narcissistic vanity of self-pity or validation through negative reciprocity, and otherwise knows no compunction or feeling. One who discovers selfcompassion both: abandons, and wastes no empathy on, any person trapped in malignant narci narcissism. ssism.

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Part Four 1

Cassady has a new baby on the way [#5] by his woman in New York, he works parking cars, short-changes the customers to augment his income. Kerouac has no qualms about partying on his stolen money. Kerouac leaves Cassady in New York. This writer is pleased to be approaching approachin g the end of a vile treatise on how not to live your life. Any possible enjoyment of Kerouac’s gift for writing has been long buried by his ‘ethics free’ amorality. Cad, jerk, con, creep in any combination, none of these can suffice to label the product’s author. Oddly, I will state here, Cassady is the book’s most sympathetic male character. Well, not so odd if you think about it, the kid had been raised neglected, had whored himself as a teen turning tricks for pedophiles on Denver’s skid row on account of having been perverted  by his ‘mentor ‘mentor of promising promising but disadvantaged disadvantaged young men’ breaking down his heterosexuality. Cassady felt he could never make it among his western peers on account of this biographical fact. It had hung over him like a sword of Damocles in his subconscious. This This explains his attraction to Ginsberg, Burroughs and Kerouac. They offered him opportunity at becoming something in his thinking, and when he realized they admired his western freedom in a sense of ability to take risks, an ingrained cultural trait actually intended to noble action in a

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recently dangerous frontier environment, he had been able to exercise this trait in a state of criminality, awe inspiring to the ‘domesticated’ easterners. That Cassady abandoned the Rocky Mountains reflected the fact he likely was at some level aware he might have been killed out of hand for his reputation acquired in ‘On the Road.’ A prisoner of Kerouac’s work in a near literal sense, Cassady could never return to his community. Ginsberg’s 20 subsequent years ongoing infatuation for Cassady completed the tragedy of Cassady’s life. Cassady’s book title ‘The First Third’ perhaps indicated he meant the second two thirds [of his life] to be different but try as he might to grow up, settle down and make it as a family man with western values, a thing it would appear he’d tried to do later, he remained a prisoner of Ginsberg who could make or break Cassady’s ‘Beat’ reputation and that was all he had. So long as Ginsberg lived, lived, Cassady would be Ginsberg’s psychological prisoner and Ginsberg outlived Cassady. It likely never crossed Ginsberg’s thoughts to respect Cassady’s wife or to consider what a woman might think when his married lovers had put their erections up his ass and subsequently went home to sleep with their wives. The American western character, character, at first glance, is  paradox. But were one to spend a lifetime looking under  surface, and I have done that, there are are a few things can be clearly sorted. Our conservative libertarianism makes today’s so-called ‘Tea Party’ out to be the bigoted morons they in fact are. We are of a far superior  substance to this. And here here is what had happened.

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 However one might like to think the western ‘gentlemanly’ values might be rooted in the White culture,, this is plainly wrong. The USA was not culture  populated primarily by ‘gentlemen’, but largely by the dispossessed, the enslaved (White ( White indentured servants and Black slaves), the persecuted religious (who became the persecutors, the phenomena of inter-generational violence), people inclined to become wealthy through exploitation (the greedy) and diverse criminals (not limited to the penal colony of Georgia.) Subsequently, exclusive of the people making treaties to Subsequently,  steal land and the related robber robber barons rise to power via capitalism’s dictum ‘Caveat Emptor’ and all of the  greed  gre ed and ignorance that had rushed west on the back of these phenomena, there arose a unique class of people  from seeming nowhere, nowhere, whether during earliest colonial times, that period of crossing the Blue Ridge to the early Ohio frontier or the later expansions which followed. Theree is no question we are the White Indians and our Ther values came from the Native American community community.. Many  Native males had died, many White men had taken  Native wives and it is the children children of these women who knew a contract is a man’s man’s word, not to lie, cheat or steal and to lay down your life before compromising compromising your ethics and these behaviors spread. This is the source of a  profound respect respect for our women who in fact are strong, strong, brave and principled. It had been as simple as that.  Amplifying Neal Cassady as representative representative of the western character was not only a total misapprehension of reality, reality, in essence it had been a crime. In fact the

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homophobia you see today had not existed in a widespread widespre ad way, people were discreet, whether straight straigh t or gay, gay, and modesty had been a virtue, a vestige of the ancient Native dignity, sans any puritanical repression repression and bigotry with its attending strictures as alien any man  from the moon. Wer Weree there assholes among us? Certainly there were and that is exactly how they were perceived in our community. community. Not everyone has h as identical heritage.

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2

Kerouac takes the bus to Denver, waxing eloquent on his observationss but by this time his “endless poem” is a observation tired rehash. He actually spends a week partying without mention of criminal behaviors, in fact one wonders how it is he manages to keep another Denver kid, just released from the pen, out of trouble. But this must be a brief respite. Cassady has sent notice he will be arriving with a car for adventure to Mexico, he has abandoned his [recently new and now pregnant] girlfriend. Kerouac writes as though this were an event takes him by surprise and then goes on to make Cassady out to be the god among men whose arrival one must prepare for. Frank Jefferiess is a new side-kick. Jefferie  I did not observe gay-bashing among my peers growing up. At least not as a matter of habit, as seems more common these days. There was this exception to the rule and it is uniquely qualified. It occasionally happened,  someone knocking a queer cold, lights out, for  propositioning or making a pass at a country boy. boy. It did not happen often in our home territory but it happened. It  seems some of us are are blips on this thing called ‘gaydar.’ ‘gaydar.’  It has happened to me, many times, particularly in the city and most of all in Berlin, but then I have ha ve lived here  for the past two years, following on most of my life  sometimes in small towns but largely largely the country. country. You see the fags lock in on you with the eyes of an infamous queer chicken. Totally misreading my relaxed

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 Native heterosexuality heterosexuality that is comfortable in a tribal or ethnic style and possessing no aura of machismo, I’ve  stopped gays in their tracks, I must have a nice ass. They take a certain posture when looking at you, as though a  Bonabo chimp looking to establish dominance with sex. When I was younger younger,, I more often than not would simply notify these predators, who indiscriminately fuck in park  shrubbery and men’s men’s rooms, when approached, approached, that I am not gay. I’ve never been inclined to be mean, and despite this, it is amazing how offended some of them can become, seeming to believe they could not possibly have been wrong in their assessment. Once in awhile I’d said: [to the more persistent or unbelieving] “Fuck off.” These days, I mostly give an expressionless ‘stick game stare’ or at most slightly roll my eyes with a pained/sardonic look and it seems to work but not always. By far and away the most rewarding experience had been when a  fag had been passing on a bicycle, caught a glimpse of me and hit the brakes. I was enjoying this amazing street  performance by some Russian musicians playing classical symphony with accordions and this guy parked his bike, and almost ran to my bench to sit down and lick his lips with the expression ‘connoisseur, eh?’ I simply nodded and then began to look at a lovely woman and did not take my eyes off of her until he sorted out what I was doing. When it finally dawned on him, the idiot ran  for his bike like a soldier running for cover under fire.

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3

Cassady shows up and Kerouac makes him out an angel with devil fits of madness. He describes a stupid show amounting to a fraternal order’s reunion of college drunks and then sets out to document his god Cassady’s  peril: “that night night when we all went went out and repaired repaired to the Windsor bar all in one vast brawling gang, Dean [Cassady] became frantically and demoniacally and seraphically drunk.” The western bar scene is idolized for pages, but I assure you all, you can do it once and it can be a case of ‘been there, done that.’ But Kerouac can never get enough of it. The he paints a hand-wringing scene of Frank Jefferies grandfather begging Jefferies not to go off to Mexico with these clowns, as Kerouac comes across as a sanctimoniou sanctimoniouss hypocrite. He has waxed eloquent about his ‘boys’ throughout, on and on, in ways one senses he is incapable of treating women, with spurious and brief attention to women except when he out and out hates them. He goes into men’s room graffiti. They ‘blow’ out of town enroute to Mexico.  I’ve been in Europe (exiled) (exiled) for five years. Over three three of those years have been spent in Germany with its fixation on all things Native American. There are are plenty of  Disneyland events going on over here, here, and I’m not talking about Paris.  I suppose it would have been easy to prostitute my 24  years learning with some of the last great great masters of  American Indian knowledge, Blackfoot, Plains Ojibwe

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and Cree, but the culture has been so maimed by modern  Indians only half-trained, already, already, I could not bring myself to dirty it any further. further. But one thing we can note heree is, contrasted to the male chimpanzees chronicled her by Kerouac and its epitomized western culture’s male behaviors, our Native intelligence, based in premonotheism (matriarchal) philosophy, looks pretty damn  superior..  superior  Now, presuming I had opportunity to teach a group  Now, group of Germans and we all were seated on the ground in a circle. cir cle. Knowing my backgr b ackground, ound, German mentality being b eing what it typically is, they’d all be looking at me in awe as though I were a god and I’m in the same moment thinking “If you think you are important, you don’ don’tt belong here, these folk all think I’m important, so maybe  I don’t don’t belong here” With all these expectant faces peering at me, I hate to tell them the truth but bu t they are here because their own culture is failing them, so let the pain sink in. “Our lesson today is short and simple. Here is a one cent coin. Pass it around the circle, I wish for each of you to actually take a moment, only that, a moment, to contemplate the power of this tiny bit of copper. copper. No questions please, I will explain when the little penny has returned full circle” Who knows what one might think? Power? A single euro cent will buy you prec precisely isely nothing!

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So the 15 people take 15 minutes to appear all serious at what would ordinarily seem a ridiculous proposition, as the little penny passes hand to hand, some finger it, other bow their heads in meditation over it, but hey, I’ve all these years training so best behave as though in the  presence  pre sence of a god .. but just now they’re about to discover a devilThey much pondered bit of copper has finally been  passed back to me and I look everyone in the eye, one to the next, holding up the single euro cent between  forefinger  fore finger and thumb while saying: “In Quantum Mechanics, once two particles have been associated, they remain forever forever associated, no matter whether you separate them by a universe in space and time. We We have always known this. It is why we, Indians, had been taught to be care careful ful in our thoughts, and cautious in our associations and physical items such as  pennies are in fact associations “Now, just imagine this were a large old penny such as “Now, weree known 100 or more years ago, and I had taken it off wer a dead man’s man’s eyes only this morning. In that case, each one of you would now be associated with that act, as well the dead man’s man’s life, and even the cause of his demise “I want you all to go home, look at and consider the  source of your belongings, and know why the Native  spiritual name for money translates literally: “The leading trouble maker”

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The ancient Native view concerning the ‘web’ of life is  precisely  pre cisely like this: We We construct reality reality through two  phenomena, primarily, primarily, our actions and our associations. Our associations tie us to the web, our person represents represents the intersect where the several or many strands meet and as such, our actions influence our associations, no different to our associations influence our encounters or ‘luck’  How one behaves and what one associates with, determines the direction and quality of everyone’s life, without exception. To construct a web which will resonate re sonate health re requires quires self discipline incorporated to intelligent choice of associations and related energies. energies. This is because everything you do, and an d everything every member of your ‘web’ does, impacts and resonates throughout your web The theoretical physicist Bernard d'Espagnat states: "The doctrine that the world is made up of objects whose existence is independent of human consciousness turns out to be in conflict with quantum mechanics and with  facts established by experiment"  He might as easily have said ‘Plato was wrong’ when  Plato described with his ‘objectivity’ why the common man needs an autocratic class of ‘objective’ rulers: “He lives from day to day indulging the appetite of the hour,, and sometimes hour so metimes he is lapped in drink and strains of the flute; then th en he becomes b ecomes a water-drinker, water-drinker, and tries to  get thin; then he takes a turn at gymnastics; sometimes

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idling and neglecting everything, then once more living the life of a philosopher; often he is busy with politics, and starts to his feet and says and does whatever comes into his head; and, if he is emulous of any one who is a warrior,, off he is in that direc warrior direction, tion, or of men of business, once more in that. His life has neither law nor order; and this distracted existence he terms joy and bliss and  freedom;  fre edom; and so he goes on”  I put Plato’s Plato’s error into his context of ‘objectivity’ in relation re lation to what Edward Bernays had accomplished with  propaganda vis a vis consumerism and modern western  science shaped in Platonic philosophy, philosophy, the ultimate ‘objectifying’ or assigning Plato’s belief in human consciousness existing independently of our intuition and related re lated surrounding objects (nature) as the ultimately destructive equation: When Plato 'objectified' man (our thought process), he  set in motion events that culminated in a personified modern Europe represented in Edward Bernays. You cannot set man apart from, or set man above the natural environment without experiencing negative consequence; the isolated narcissism shaping Western reality re ality resulting in destructive behaviors to include  science an unconscious necrotic necrotic religion religion expressed expressed through symbol of malevolent technology. technology.  In this case, Plato's base 'appetite' has returned mutated  from exile to 'consume' his Republic via consequence of consumerism and dying envir environment. onment.

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 Now, consider I’d arrived at this insight via illiterate  Now,  Indians (however fluent in their language and oral traditions) primarily, primarily, with a bit of lovely insight into  Plato provided by the Africa centered centered scholar Marimba  Ani. The bottom line is, most pre-Columbian Native  American cultures cultures (the non-hierarchal ones) had been living a practical philosophical knowledge based in advanced understanding of Quantum Mechanics (following timeline established in linguistics and  genetics) for as long as 40,000 years prior to Plato and modern scientific theory theory..  After the pedophile Socrates had been executed for “corrupting the youth of Athens”, his ‘most favored’  student, Plato, went on to establish a school. When Plato had then given Socrates’ definition of man as a “featherless bi-pedal” the cynic Diogenes brought a live,  plucked rooster rooster to the next session and proclaimed: “here is Plato’s man.” I’m guessing the ‘greek’ Plato experienced an erection erection at the sight of the naked chicken’s ass. All these many 2,500 or so years later, quantum mechanics is prov p roving ing Plato wrong and female intelligence right. Western science is pretty damn slow.

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4

Five pages of sagebrush rendered holy, leering at girls and cooing over boys, Kerouac, Cassady and Jefferies make their move from Denver across Texas into Mexico, crossing the border at Laredo. They marvel at a different universe populated by Brown people.  I've had a number of people over these several years tell me 'the world will change when people change themselves.' 

 Many people are are not equipped to change their personal world, and what I am getting at here is, most people in the 'larger' world are not afforded opportunity at social  justice but are indentured to a system of practical slavery slavery wheree institutions are corrupt and serve a wealthy power wher elite. This is particularly true in poore poo rerr nations, which are exploited by richer nations.  In these poorer circumstance circumstance and nations there is little little opportunity to explore, learn and develop the self outside mere struggle for survival, and to some extent it is also the case in the poor of the rich nations, as well in some respects re spects is also true of a middle class citizenry locked into perceptions perpetrating imbalances in our larger human universe. Let's not deceive ourselves with any thought that, for most, there is some voluntary individual

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 path to social equity and attending world change through  personal enlightenment. Quoting Aldous Huxley's character Phillip Quarles in the  great  gre at novel and social essay 'Point Counter-Point'  : "Drill and uniforms impose an architecture architecture on the cr crowd. owd.  An army's beautiful. But that's not all; it panders to lower instincts than the aesthetic. The spectacle of human beings reduced to automatism satisfies the lust for  power.. Looking at mechanized slaves, one fancies oneself  power a master." 

 In any society so organized, for people to change the world through individual self-introspection, a spell must be broken relating relating to the privileged vis-à-vis the indentured and manipulated minion.  In fact people who change themselves do appear to change the world, at a minimum, it would appear they change their personal world. When this idea is adopted by the privileged of the richer nations but also coupled to the practical discarding of engagement and working for world improvement through through equilibrium found in social  justice, and has abandoned endeavor towards providing providing like opportunity for personal enlightenment to all, it is narcissist in the extreme extreme and is in its own right both a victim of, and propping up, Huxley's 'automatism.'

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"At this very moment,... the most frightful horrors are are taking place in every corner of the world. People are being crushed, slashed, disembowelled, mangled; their dead bodies rot and their eyes decay with the rest. Screams Scr eams of pain and fear go pulsing through the air at the rate of eleven hundred feet per second. After travelling for three seconds they are perfectly inaudible. These are distressing distressing facts; but do we enjoy life any the less because of them? Most certainly we do not" Aldous  Huxley’ss character Mr Scogan in 'Chrome Yellow  Huxley’ Yellow.' .' Whether the yogi, the psycho-analyst, the gossip columnist, the mainstream news reporter or the educator,  professionals of every every stripe in western ‘law abiding’ industrialized nations, all of them, and every other  person of affluence from from the middle class to the 1% at the top of this food chain, each one of them enjoys their  standard of living beyond the “perfectly “perfectly inaudible ..  screams  scr eams of pain and fear” the diamond, gold, petroldollar & other diverse concessions of every imaginable import, exact from the abused Brown peoples of this world to feed the vanities and self-indulgence of the automated and insulated White peoples of this world .. and no amount of personal change is going to change this fact short of surrendering narcissistic vanity and devoting oneself to social justice in hands on or practical terms.

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5

South of Monterrey, on the road to Mexico City, the conversation is eloquent and lecherous. Cassady moans over young girls “Oh man, I want to stop and twiddle thumbs with the little darlings, but notice the old lady or old man is always somewhere around.” With eyes wide open at a different universe, Kerouac’s amphetamine damaged mentality imagines the degenerate Cassady has discovered home: “He was sweating. His eyes were redstreaked and mad and also subdued and tender- he had found people like himself.” Kerouac indulges in a delusion he is familiar with the Mexican ‘Indians’ nature. Having purchased marijuana and arranging whores, Cassady is inspired to eloquent speeches while fawning over a pimp’s baby. They visit a brothel with sex slaves as young as fifteen years old, and knowing Kerouac’s  propensity to lie when he needs needs to cover his ass concerning their more base criminal acts, likely the girls were actually closer to twelve. Cassady and Jefferies trade underage girls around among themselves, taking turns fucking them. Kerouac claims he could not bring himself to do it and stuck with a thirty year old prostitute, anyone who’d believe believe that is naïve in the extreme, this is the man responsible for the entire sordid affair, the inspiration, the instigator throughout. The vehicle for criminality On the Road, Kerouac ever excuses himself.

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 At The Bless God Café On the Akazien stre street et  Lies a view Of the Apostle Paul  At the Bless God Café The windows are clean, large..  And politicians revel revel  In caffeinated gossip.  Across the way, way,  Dogs lift legs On the cornerstoneWhere inside, boys Where  Long to be baritones..  For the Apostle Paul. The circumcised belfry  Erect,  Erec t, Orgasms  Noonday’ss song:  Noonday’ THONG!  Pulling the ropes THONG! The priest imagines THONG! The little boy’s hands on

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THONG!  Bulge beneath his THONG! Cassock untied THONG!  Bleeding Jesus’ THONG! Silence forgive forgivess THONG!  Raped mouth THONG! Sweating Temptation THONG! Guilt possesses children THONG!  Beneath his spandex THONG!  A dog’s dog’s nose  Knows jism’s jism’s  Deservedly lifted leg..  In the view from: from: The Bless God Café.

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6

Pushing on to Mexico City, these pedophiles admire ever-younger children. Kerouac attempts self-ablution with: “They were like the eyes of the Virgin Mother when she was a child. We saw in them the tender and forgiving gaze of Jesus.” They arrive in Mexico City and Kerouac gets fever and dysentery, bed-ridden. Cassady deserts the deserving bastard and drives back to the USA without him. It never occurs to Kerouac, he’d brought this on himself. himself. These are people who never grew grew up. When the ‘Beat’ writer’s, who worshiped Kerouac and his ‘On the Road’, had moved into the sixties and taken up the anti-war cause to en-noble themselves, themselves, all of America, indeed the world, suffered a consequence. The criminality, the immorality, the utter lack of ethics, the misogyny, all associated with Kerouac’s now wildly famous work, serves to drive away countless people, law abiding people, modest people, old-line conservatives  particularly,, from making  particularly making common cause cause with liberals and progressives against the military corporate-industrial corporate-industrial war machine that has overtaken our lives, essentially handing a victory to greed and the religious right. I am aware there must be many fine gay men in this world undeserving of the sobriquet ‘fag’, men who do not exercise habits of pedophilia or hunt down oral sex from strangers on park benches, but these people need to understand something. Allen Ginsberg’s ‘cock-breath-inyour-face-blow-job-evangelism’ becoming associated

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with the anti-war movement must be, in fact, how many natural allies had been turned off. The openly gay community needs to stop shirking responsibility and separate its venue and agenda from that of the anti-corporate/anti-war cause and make room for those more modest people turned totally off by the likes of Kerouac, Ginsberg and company. So long as Ginsberg’s political heirs are mixing the anti-corporate/ anti-war agenda with liberal homosexuality and its associated lifestyles in the public consumption, alliance with the more conservative elements is not going to happen and the battle never won.  Democracy Now!  Democracy Now: Today Today we interview Glenn Beckwald on the Obama administration’s administration’s openly gay foreign policy and the war in Liberacestan. Glenn has been the most effective liberal anti-war anti- war shill or or,, alternately, accused of being the most effective possible shill for the witch hunting, child torturing closet-gay neo-con agenda when it comes to the closet gays exercising impunity in the  public eye, a necessary propaganda propaganda ploy in our homosexual nationalist culture, to make certain people  feel by merely merely donating, rather than demonstrating in the  streets,  stre ets, they are doing more than wringing their hands and shedding a tear or two, to fight the fascist-closet-gay war agenda.  DN: It has been stated the liberal openly gay agenda you  support has in fact propped up the neo-con closet gay agenda you oppose, or re restated, stated, all things being equally equa lly

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 gay in our interventionist policies, the closet gays’ claim transparency is a threat to National Security, Security, and this th is is the gay issue which most turns you on. How do you respond re spond to that?  Beckwald: Flamey, Flamey, nothing could be further from the truth. The closet gays suffer immense moral turpitude turpitud e and for anyone to claim my open ‘gayness’ could in any way prop up the closet gay agenda is simple non-sense. non-s ense. The only healthy culture is an openly gay culture and  I’ve not heard any liberal or otherwise credible credible source claim ‘in the closet’ is a good thing. Herein lie the  problem:: until the closet gays are outed, and these most  problem insidious of National Security secr secrets ets are revealed, revealed, our nation’ss policies will be dishonest. A national security nation’  policy kept in the closet is not a healthy national security. security.  It’ss simply not possible for my openly gay position to  It’  prop up the closet gay agenda.  DN: Bacha Bazi, also known as bacchá, is sexual slavery and child prostitution, in which pre prepubescent pubescent and adolescent boys are sold to wealthy or powerful men for entertainment and sexual activities. This business thrives in Liberacestan, in fact our military aid has put many of these boys into Liberace army mascot uniforms. Some of the individuals involved report being forced into sex. The authorities have been reluctant to crack down on the  practice by military commanders. Your Your organization ‘Reweinerize Liberacestan’ has made this a ‘seminal issue’ by demanding the boys be volunteers, paid p aid equitably, equitably, and the pedophile commanders come out of the closet and demonstrate authentic gay pride by legitimizing their homosexual child concubines with legal same sex

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 partnerships. This should temper the exploitation of these children, correct?  Beckwald: Absolutely Flamey. Flamey. This a cornerstone of ‘Reweinerize Liberacestan’ policy, to raise awareness and impart democratic values to what has been to now a hopelessly backwards culture. culture. The sooner the closet gay commanders become comfortable with their sexuality in  public, we all can begin to kiss and make up, the Taliban Taliban commanders, American neo-con generals and Karzai’ Karzai’ss war lords can all find common ground. Male sexuality is SO misunderstood and when repressed repressed it leads to ALL  sorts of malevolent behaviors which manifest as being SO angry. The sooner Liberacestan is openly gay gay,, there will be no need for wars, we will have created heaven on earth, heck, I might live part time there!  DN: This past week in Philadelphia, three priests and a teacher were charged with raping boys. Their supervisor,  Monsignor William William Lynn, was not accused of molesting children but of endangering them. A damning grand jury report re port said at a t least two boys were sexually assaulted because he put two known pedophiles pedop hiles in posts where they had contact with youngsters. Comparatively speaking, is there not a conflict, to describe Liberacestan’s homosexual pedophile culture as backwards? It’s not like this is some isolated incident in Western Western culture.  Beckwald: Flamey, Flamey, this is not only a crass intrusion on Church affairs in violation of the wall between church and state, this is a nature versus nurture thing. Without openly nurturing homosexuality in children, how would the misogynist western culture's males ever be able to

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express their true sexuality without hate and consequent express wars? Homosexual pedophilia should be decriminalized, otherwise we must criminalize ALL male hierarchal order based in masculine narcissism, and all associated  judeo-christian derived misogynist/homosexual religions religions which are behind aggression and war. You know I live in  Brazil, where these problems don’t don’t crop up for the Catholic Church and there is a wide open gay culture wheree it is SO easy to find and live openly with your wher male same sex partner partner.. When pedophilia is decriminalized, the Church as well, will be free to come out of the closet, stop inspiring insp iring torture, inciting wars, et cetera and the Pius X Society will surrender its fascism  for free love with children. children. This is why ‘Re-weinerize  Liberacestan’ is in the forefront forefront of the fight against  fascism with raising national awareness of how Bacha  Bazi could be a force for peace and why it should come into the American public eye. The sooner we legitimize these boys sexually comforting the closet gays in  American minds, including our neo-con generals, the  sooner there can can be peace. This should be a prioritized  focus of the USAID programs in Liberacestan, it would be so much better more American American tax dollars are stolen  from there, than current current expenditures expenditures on CIA drone drone missiles fed bad targe ta rgeting ting information through closet gay mercenary mer cenary contractors like Iran-Contra Iran- Contra associated criminal Michael Furlong at Strategic Command, resulting re sulting in murdering entire entire families.  DN: ‘Re-weinerize Liberacestan’ associated experts express a sentiment we should be very gentle in liberating the closet gays. Is this why you’ve not gone after the individual generals with your resour resources, ces, those

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 generals involved in crime personally, personally, hands on? For example Colonel Ann Wright has documented numerous cases of raped and murdered murdered American women soldiers who’d the misfortune to be assigned to corrupt commands in Iraq, including rape and murders of women assigned directly to General Petreaus command. Why not help Colonel Wright on this issue with your tremendous organizational resources? resources? Why not go after the individual commanders and push these identifiable corruption associated rapes and mur murders ders that can be tied to top commanders into the public eye and mainstream news? Or for that matter, matter, the epidemic rape of our women soldiers overall? Wouldn’t this be a powerful tool to get a real examination of the war on track and public outrage demanding answers and the wars shut down?  Beckwald: Many liberals don’t don’t understand how these things must be finessed, Flamey. Yes, we must be very  gentle liberating the closet gays, because as soon as we  start naming names to specific crimes, the closet gays become paranoid and come after us. Just more violence and you know that it is the violence we are against.  Especially violence against us. For instance, we are  perfectly aware aware since 2008 specific war crimes can be tied to specific closet gay commanders in Liberacestan, but if we push neo-con "C Street" associated individuals like Generals Petreaus, McChrystal and Odinero into the  spotlight, the chances of them ever coming out of the closet on their own, as gentle and beautiful, openly gay  people, are practically nil.

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Part Five

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The 4 " pages comprising part five of ‘On the Road’, are not worth writing about.

END