July 21 Sunshine

I'VE HAD THE STUFF BEFORE. Purple, blue, white, emerald. But never did it taste like this, to my tongue or my mind.

Kaleidoscope, yes, but beatific and unbenign. I KNOW I am beholding the jawbone of how the world works--regeneration, decay, remorselessness, repeat--and there is none of the terror or melodrama of our poor parents' dilemmas . . . as characterized, say, but the shrill pill of a Tennessee Williams play. Maggots reprise the future me.

I take a handful from his cheerful, brimming candy dish and pop them in my belt buckle compartment. It's so beautiful. "The Brotherhood's here to move this beauty." I squeeze and feel the power of a spirit who will turn on half the kids in California a hundred times over with this spiritual little pill. "We're going to name it after you."

I knew. He's awestruck at my prophecy as I hand him the decorated T-shirt, and he takes off ALL his clothes before he puts it on. ORANGE SUNSHINE EXPRESS. Oh yes!

pssst. . .sign the guestbook!