IN '69, I WAS LESS INTERESTED in the domestic effects of the Vietnamese conflict than in the devious repercussions rumbling back at the dearest of all my country-sons, especially on the most decadent shore, in evil's Avalon, a devil's Mecca: California. Here are a few of my fondest memories from the last days: an L. A. girl getting fucked by her G. I. guy against the cold pane of a second-floor window while two youth teams of astonished stickball players stare up at the cool lunar looming of her rump and wonder what, in the heart of their pants, is up . . . a bunch of doe-eyed Berkeley High brats getting the shit kicked out of them for joining all the Cal drones and the broader law of dropouts in a protest at the Oakland Induction Center . . . a cop barely escaping his overturned cruiser in an action on Telegraph Ave--he runs pell-mell like a blue-breasted chicken back and forth between posses of ecstatic protestors.

pssst. . .sign the guestbook!