nineteen eighty-five....two tone, silver and black.....throaty three fifty coughs happily alive, through ceramic headers, collectors, straight pipes and out.....split fire plugs gaped zaped hot sparks and the rods push down around.....flywheel fly and lights flash dash board Vanillarama smell with summertime Armor All....vinyl bench seat, short box, short cab no riders......womp womp womp, cam drops drops drops d d d duh.....d d d duh.....d d d duh....she idles and waits while I pack my Copenhagen.....step on the gas....one two shift screech.....get up on it and loose the ass end a bit....back off the foot slightly for the ole two-three slam......rack and pinion steering loose in my hands.........back down to the floor, pickin' up speed.......numbers on the tach climbing, higher, higher, whining, winding, speed speed speeeeed......stall converter drop, tires catch burn rubber ninety miles an hour......overdrive nineteen eighty five.....and cold air blowin'.........I should have never sold that truck.....
Actually recorded a rough copy of this one last time we got the band (?) together. Getting back together in a couple of weeks to "flesh out" some old ones, and write some new ones...
It’s in the quietest of times
That hope speaks the loudest
And sometimes in the darkness
Is where you’ll see the light
All the love you give away
Comes back to you in time
Memories grow like flowers
In the garden of your mind
How many years has it been
Since we danced the night away
And stepped out of the bright lights
Into the early morning gray
Want to hold you like new memories
Of the way I dreamed it should be
They grow like ripples in still waters
We’ll watch them flowing to the sea
Jerry … where are you?
A sustained note hovers angelic over the stadium
Remembering the hypnotic music
Bubbling up from subconscious wellsprings
Forming whirling universes of electric blues
Mingling elements of fire and air
Swirling question marks in the Zen void
And in the center of the cyclone
Garcia rides the inner edge
His beard flying in the winds
His head residing in the calm central eye
Skull an alembic vessel of chemical transformation
Flames lick through the hollow eyeholes
And a wisp of incense rises up to heaven
Jerry … where are you?
Awaiting Ouroboroic sunrise
IN THE REALM OF THE WIZARD GARCIA
A Parable for Deadhead Children of All Ages
by A. Mandala
c. 1990 All rights reserved.
Once upon a space of time,
On a bright ball spinning free,
There lived a race of humankind,
Not unlike you and me.
But these folk were having a terrible time
Finding a free way to be,
And the notes that they sang in the cosmic chord
Curdled the heavenly harmony.
They'd built bombs to kill everybody several times over,
But they couldn't make sure every body could eat;
They'd poisoned the air, their own food, land and water,
They'd rarely cooperate, but they'd always compete.
Their world had become a planet divided
By hard hearts, closed minds and hate,
And since they'd never learned to blend together in love,
Self-destruction shadowed their fate.
But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
And his bands of merry fools,
They were striving to find some gentler ways
By stretching all those rules
That were stopping joy and kindness
From glowing from within,
And blocking hearts from beating
With the pulsing life rhythm.
You see, the sickness that afflicted that world
Was not that hard to fix,
It came from keeping things locked up
And protecting them with sticks,
Or knives, or guns, (or words) or bombs,
Or other means to scare,
'Til all the time 'twas meant for play
Got trapped inside of fear.
And it became easier to keep others away
Than to learn to let them near,
And it became easier to fret about a future of days
Than enjoy the one that was here.
Their minds had locked out everything,
But having and getting more.
They were so afraid to lose what they had,
They were scared to go out their own door.
But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
At the edge of this Land of Afraid,
They were dedicated to going further than this,
To dance in, not watch, life's parade.
For they'd found a musical magic
Where the boundaries could stretch everywhere,
And they all could let go together,
And not fear that others were near.
They followed that magic right out of their cages,
And escaped from the dungeon of feeling alone,
Their spirits would shimmer (and heal) and mingle;
Fear could no longer freeze them like stone.
Their minds would all meld and spark with connection,
Their bodies would ripple together like waves,
Their souls merged in oneness; they stopped dreading dying;
They could see, from those peaks, they might dance beyond graves.
In their bliss they knew life is transcendent,
It's immenser than just you or we,
And whenever we try to box it or lock it,
We just jail ourselves with no key.
They celebrated the joys of coming together,
In a free-zone where each one could be
Wherever their fantasies happened to take them
And still blend with the whole harmony.
Now sadly, most who most needed their magic
Only saw them as weirdoes and freaks,
And made fun of their smiles and their twinkling eyeballs,
And then returned to that world that was bleak.
But the realm of the Wizard Garcia
Is always near for those who will dare
To soar o'er the limits and bondage of boundaries,
To find the freedom that rings beyond fear.
The omitted spring velocities
Of ever widening permissions
We wildly anti-see a gap
When all is sometimes free at last
Oh, The Badger of Cosmics plants a seed
Or two, for us to grin
I can but wonder where the light is from
I can only ponder
Thank you for a real good time
You make me happy, make me shine
Lucky are we who can smile and say
I'm on the Bus and here to stay
We trip around the country catching all the shows we can
And we just keep on dancin while the music plays the band
We know a little something that the rest won't ever know
We live in peace, we laugh, we dance and hold on to the rose
Is there ever a time
That was never to dim
When the moment just right
Still glass captures the light
Frozen in time’s haste
Foolishness is a waste
Don’t Go, Don’t Go
Stuck within the moment
Won’t you let me go now
Struggle from some, not all
The impulse’s shadow
Casts these memories
This one's from a couple of years ago, and doesn't have a name:
The star-studded wet green fields
Sway to the time of a northern breeze.
Walking out in the sweet rhythm
Drinking in air
Thick and soft
In the mystery of a night
Crowded with ghosts
Of a thousand dead butterflies
The living air
shimmers and ripples.
But I don’t look back
As I swim through it, away.
This one also doesn't have a name, and i believe it's from last year:
I’m sitting in the TV Coney Island
Watching the rides
I gotta go to a new place every day
Paris is next,
To whenever paris was Paris.
After that it’s the bus station on 178th street
From there who knows
I flew in the morning while the fog was still clearing from my windows
Walking down the streets
Heavy with dew and grey
Flew to San Francisco to see some real fog
But I never stayed on there more than a few days
Sleeping peacefully among the flowers, lost souls,
The bookstores and the beats.
Well then I drove down to Los Angeles but I didn’t care
For LA LA land and
the drive was all I wanted anyway
since I lost mine somewhere in summer
way back when
I was laying way down in the mad jungle
A few Haiku
scaring the children
with his shaggy beard--they come
back to tug on it
well tended garden
rows and rows of organic herbs
most of them legal
passing the peace pipe
community of gentle souls
rests between sets
never quite the same
since walking thru it
eye's didn't see,
listen to me,
paths of the dragon
lead only to