HEY, DO YOU WANT SOME ORANGE EYES? you seem a little blue. . . . If its C or H you're looking for you better head over to my cousin at the other end of the Haight, but I'm telling you she's a vixen and not half as GENTEEL on your mind as me--at least not for the long haul. It's long past the summer of love, the Dead aren't playing today, and believe it or not there might not be much of this stuff left, at least that's the word around the Brotherhood. Still, on any sunny day you can find me on the Haight, near where the Diggers give out food. SURE there's life on the moon. Here on earth too! There's always a little grass to be had . . . but take a tab, lay back--this is no quick hit--and see what happens after an hour with me. Then if you feel like some weed I won't mind. You'll have eyes. Just give the green the presence of mind that comes through chemistry. After all, in an hour or 20 it'll be over, genuinely over, which is more than you can say for MOST bad trips in this age: Vietnam, Richard Nixon, Hell's Angels, CIA, IRS, ee-tee-cee. In my belt buckle I have a truckful of feelings and an ounce (enough for all California) of affable madness. If you want to come along all you have to do is take my hand. But don't let go until it's been a wild ride (and that might seem like a while) because Tim said stuff about set and setting, wise priest, but he forgot the part about steeling your resolve once you DO drop--or drop out. Because even when the carpets are crawling it's a HELLUVA lot easier to plow through the shag than presume you can put on the brakes.
 
 

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