FARMER JOHN IS GONE, all the apostles have been rousted by the Man, and just when the situation looks beyond repair a mad bastard joins the brotherhood!
Never expected the establishment to move in on our little patch of paradise, because the patron who supplied the lab with stash is the establishment--or so we thought. We never really counted on being granted status as a church; they might take away the ranch, the campaign, even the store; but who would have thought they'd hit this family right at the heart of our sacrament: the acid?
I doubt the Christians would have survived it.
What's one to make of divine intervention? Just when it looks like the jig's up--Billy Hitchcock a Fed scapegoat and there goes our bread--this guy bursts on the scene. And the tiles get back their shine! He's got a FUCKING KILO on him, which for some people might be like the first time they hold gold and get a sense of how heavy (despite the usual light-and-fleeting nature) money can be. Damn! are you saying this heft on my hand is pure (we're not talking pills or paper media here) product!? We all had a good laugh tossing it back and forth in its bag. Betcha Nixon never hiked a football half as heavy.
Restructuring is already at work: Fat Bobby is taking care of the hash and Randall and Sand are ready for Stark's stash. It's like The Wizard of Oz when ding-dong the witch is dead! If I could see in the future I'd wonder what politicians and corporate creeps today will be the turn-ons of tomorrow, giving away money and for once trying to make a positive change for something but the illusory I.
All I can say about this new fellow Stark coming on the scene: it's like the next, lyrical step in life-is-but-a-dream. The cycle is always with us, lest we forget, and with death--either of dreams or the flesh--comes rebirth. It's in the LSD. The LSD called me . . . why not others? I only wish Farmer John could have seen it!