Carlos and The Age Of Aquarius (A cryptic mythic revelation of Music)



A cryptic mash up free flowing tale of the spirituality of Carlos Santana and various mythological characters with a little hippie legend tossed in……..

This is the dawning of the Age Of Aquarius
Golden living dreams of visions and The minds true liberation
When the moonflower is in the seventh house
And Jingo aligns its Evil Ways……Carlos flies


The Pumas guitar sang me a tune
Revealing a painting hung on ancient wall
There the image of the whore I had once berated
Calling her name as I made love to my mother
My beloved Abraxas squealing delightful
Daughter of the clawed feline devil
Angel who shared my very own womb
I half god Castor the true son of Leda
Born of the rape by the swan chameleon
Hath stabbed to death my devious father
The frozen heart of Damien stopped
Vile chilled slayer of Pollex Gemini
But my deeds are etched deep in stone
Upon the hill of the angel Gabriel
Messenger of the creator on high
Mystic crystal revelation
Play on Carlos

As my sword pierced the burning spirit
A huge crowd sings of soul sacrifice
The Morning Glories fade to crimson
The whore of the Caravanserai pauses
Clutching me tight to her breast
Filling my mouth with lactic lifeblood
Offering me an oedipal choice
Take the life of Sophocles and the bed of Jocasta awaits
The rape of my mother and murder of my father
Blessed by the oracle of Delphi
The four elements remained in riddle
Revealing the Sphinx as a fraudulent god
So I destroyed the body of the lion
But the spirit of the head remained
Inscribed in the kingdom of Babylon
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Play on Carlos

The whispers of my love stricken Rhea
Sobbing behind a forbidden wall of sin
Begged me with tears most amorous
My brother please take away my virginity
Give fully yourself unto Magna Mater
Water bearer of my daughter Gaia
Sister of the father husband Cronos
Blessed incestuous communion
Now the face of the lion Borboletta
One of many morphed in the mane
Layered egos in regal camouflage
Brother father and raper of Europa
Bearing the fruit from the loin of Zeus
The hallucinations of the abalone bull
A song sung in voices Supernaturel
I begged of him strum his lyre once more
To escape me this life of indescribable pain
The Aztec Archer drew back tight his bow
Firing his arrow across the entire world
His message of peace love and music
And then he played a Samba for me
All I had to do was listen
Let peace guide the planets and love steer the stars
Play on Carlos


Dave? Daves Not Here…



By J.T. Hilltop

All day long I’ve been hearing and seeing people say that David Bowie was extremely good at re-inventing himself. Personally I find that to be a bullshit statement. He wasn’t invented he merely lived his life on his own terms. I think maybe David Bowie was far too original for some people to understand so they put him into compartments they can label. They invented a label for Mr. Bowie and when he exposed another piece of his personality they re-invented a new label. David didn’t invent himself he shared himself, in all his glorious facets. The only expectations he lived up to were his own and that defies the logic of those among us who can only understand people when they’re placed in comfortable sounding compartments.

Whether he was wearing an Oddity like an abandoned spacesuit looking the sell the world or busy making cha cha cha cha changes into a Cosmic Traveling Starman riding spiders on Mars he willing revealed all the components of his life with us while entertaining us with phenomenal music. All while reaching his fame. What’s your name what’s your name. David simply slipped in and out of the pieces of the jigsaw that made him such a wonderful puzzle and graciously allowed us to experience it along with him.

In constant conflict with conformity David took us on many wonderful rides each one more fun than the next. Rock, Glam, Dance, whatever the Hell he felt like exposing he did. His legacy for me will not be merely his music but his teaching us how to be brave and express ourselves as who we are not who others want us to be. Jimi Hendrix told us to wave our freak flags high but David Bowie took it a step further, not just raise your flag but to refuse to allow anyone to label your flag. It’s our flag and we wave if proudly. David Bowie will forever be both a Scary Monster…..and a Hero.


The Soundtrack Of My Youth


I was fortunate to have grown up in the era of The Beatles, The British Invasion, and the cultural shift they caused.

At seven years old one Chritmas morn
I received a present of deep distintion
My very first monophonic record player
Which I played right into its extinction

My very first single was huckleberry Hound
Followed by Theodore, Alvin and Simon
I developed an obsession of musical sounds
The Beach boys Everlies and Frankie Lyman

But one fateful Sunday on prime time TV
Four cool young lads from England performed
I knew at that moment my life had been changed
Good bye to Silly putty and so long colorform

Suddenly a music I could call all my own
My brothers rock and roll seemed too lame
I had the Fab Four their mopheads and all
And my life would never again be the same

I can see how the albums influenced my being
With every new LP I evolved fashion and style
I wanted my life to be just like one the Beatles
Every thing those Fab Four did made me smile

Meet The Beatles and A Hard Days night 1964
Dad I wanna grow my hair to my collar
With bangs hanging over my eyes
Son you’re getting another crew cut
Dad your getting a big surprise

As long as your under my roof you’ll do as your told. Your hair stays as short as I say it does.
That’s not fair I never asked to be born in this stupid world.
Maybe I’ll just run away
No son of mine is going to be one of those dirty hippies they’re all smelly and they don’t even bathe
I’m not a dirty hippie Dad I just want to grow my hair longer
Cool it and keep the faith
I’ll keep the faith all right. That’s what you lack, maybe we’ll send you to military school.
Don’t wanna be in the army, I just wanna be like The Beatles
Smelly insects? that’s what you want? That’s what I get for letting you go around with those hoodlum friends of yours!
Don’t be a jerk Dad
Don’t talk to me like that you little brat, remember you’re living under my roof
Now go do your homework
I hate living here!!!

Help! Rubber Soul 1965

Slowly letting my hair grow longer
Despite all the tough complications
Bought myself a pair of bell bottom jeans
Spouted out cool Buddha quotations

Son you look ridiculous, where the Hell did you get those clothes. What the Hell will the neighbors say
Why do you care what the neighbors say? Ever see what Billy wears?
Besides I paid for it with my paper route.
Yes I know all about Billy, he’s older than you and a tree hugging fool.
If Billy jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge would you jump too.
If it looked like fun I would jump off.
What’s that son?
Nothing Dad
Go do your homework
I hate my life!
Bratty kid bastard!

Revolver, Yesterday And Today 1966

My hair finally snuck past my collar
The long bangs they covered my eyes
Dad put on way too much pressure
I began selling too many lies

Mr. Roberts said he saw you smoking a cigarette at the mall. Where are you getting those things?
I wasn’t at the mall so it couldn’t have been me smoking. Someone else was blowing those smoke rings
I never said anything about blowing smoke rings, now I know you are lying
I think its discipline you now lack
Oh for Gods sake not the military school bullshit again?
Don’t start anything you’re not able to finish young man. Now where the Hell did you get a cigarette?
I stole a few cigs from your pack old man
Don’t you talk to your father like that! Who the Hell do you think you are?
Get a haircut you insolent brat
Yea right!

Magical Mystery Tour, Srgt. Peppers 1967

Had my first sit in and a couple of rallies
Lets get our troops home from Vietnam
In hippie clothes and hugging some tree’s
Jesus they’re killing with kids with napalm

What the Fuck is wrong with you going to these peace rallies? People get killed at those things!
It’s a PEACE rally father, not a kill rally like you used to go to.
Listen you god damn Ruskie commie fag you still live under my roof so you’ll follow my rules.
You don’t even know what communism is Dad. Russia is a socialist country for your information
This is what I send you to school for you little shit? What teacher is telling you those lies
My shop teacher never mind it doesn’t matter, you don’t get me anyway
I’ll get you allr right, I’ll get you in a damn barber chair

Where did I go wrong?

The White album, Yellow Submarine,1968/69

Full fledged hippie clothes and all
As I walked all the old farts stared
Parents said see you look like a fool
They never realized I never even cared

Get a job and a haircut you lazy little punk.
Put on a suit and tie if you ever get an interview
What a suit and tie so I can be a prisoner like you?
You can cut this crap out right now, your mother and I…….what???
What the hell is that on your arm?
Its called a tattoo dad, maybe you heard of them.
Oh My God! Has your mother seen that? What are you comic book arms?
Now you’re gonna be one of those Hell’s Angels or something?
Its expression old man, you wouldn’t understand.
Understand this you young punk you better get that off your body before your Mom see’s that.
Its permanent Dad! It’s my god damn body anyway!
Taking the lords name in vain? Your on a road to nowhere.
Get a job and move out of my house!

Let It Be, Abbey Road, 1970 and beyond

The time comes in every mans life
Its time to spread his wings and fly
Got a job and my own apartment
Didn’t wait around to say good bye

Mom, I moved out I can‘t live with Dad no more. I found a basement apartment in Kings Park.
Son please! Stay here, you don’t need to leave, your father is just upset.
I’m sorry Mom its way more than that, he hates me and I hate him.
Son nobody hates anybody, its only a misunderstanding, don’t move away. Its not safe, we love you.
Its too late Mom, I just came to get my records and my record player. I promise I’ll come visit you when he’s not around. I love you Mom

Please don’t go………….

Woodhenge: Behind The Music 3 days of hunting, gathering, and celtic rock

woodhenge I

Woodhenge: Behind The Music
3 days of hunting, gathering, and celtic rock

For three days in the hot period of 3969BC nearly half a million young nomads attended the Woodhenge Music and Arts Festival. It was the most celebrated and peaceful gathering of the Mesolithic period which took place in an area of The Island Britannia which was known as Witheridge. It promised to be a weekend of nomadic tribes enjoying music, love, and peace. But it was not so peaceful for the three promoters, Artemis Field-of-corn, Joelius Rosenthorn, and Micah Langspear. Artemis: “I was as petrified as some of the fossils there. It was like..someone is getting burned at the stake for killing 20,000 people man, and that someone was gonna be me!” Joelius: “I had never seen so many hunters and gatherers in the same place man, it was like Bedrock bedlam. Sex, crazy smoke, weird tablets, and just people everywhere. There was no way someone wasn’t going to get jousted or have their eye poked out with a stone sling man, it was just a crazy scene.” Micah: “I wanted to have a nice small mass of a few thousand, you know, like to share some gathering strategies, new hunting techniques, and maybe exchange some cultural art, which was coming off the cave walls and onto rock trinkets. I never dreamed that so many people existed let alone would come to our festiva1”
It was a troubled era, the end of the 3960’s, the BC’s most turbulent decade. Protests over The Cola Wars pitted tribal leaders against the youth, Neolithic Counterculture protests and civil disobedience gatherings fighting for the rights of crossbow arrow hunters, Gatherer Libbers burning their breast straps, and the assassination of some young leaders of the Liberal Cave Party. It was the Stoned Age, and kids were puffing on crazy smoke and getting stoned all over the European countrysides. Lutes and pan flutes replaced the strings and reeds in music, the female gatherer sheepskin body covering got higher exposing more skin and hunters began braiding their hair. In the middle of the decade the Greek Olympics had become marred with inter species showering and the new event, javelin fondling. It was the beginning of the sexual revolution and attitudes were changing fast. There were female hunters, stay at cave Dads, and manskin arrow handling attitudes were being redefined. The ice age was still on the minds of the older generation but the youth just told them to chill out. The times they were a changing. As the cultures moved out of the caves and into tents a variety of artistic expressions evolved. Young tribal members found new and interesting uses for the blowpipes. Gatherers used them for self gratification and the hunters found they could entice more gatherer groupies by using blowpipes to make new more melodic sounds while others modified the pipes to use as a multiple user smoking tools. The strange new phenomenon of nasal powder sniffing through the tubular blowpipe increased as well as young nomads searched for new ways to get “that feeling”. Power powder, mood tablets, and crazy smoke were sweeping the meadows. A countryside turned on, tuned in, and dropping LCDVII tablets to hallucinate. The time seemed right for three young visionaries to create a gathering, build a monument, and change the flat world forever. But was the Pagan community ready for a Rock and Rumble monument? When we come back, some were building monuments, others jotting down notes …….. (long pause for effect)

It was Joelius Rosenthorn who first had the vision, peering across the huge land mass of grazing Harecleum, the oversized bovines that populated Witheridge. Joelius saw an abundance of milk the gatherers could use to make cheeses and yougurts, and bovine skins to make come do me shoes and negligee’s. The huge animals were prime for prime rib. Giant steak ladden bucks for the hunters to kill and butcher and a wide open area to share and exchange idea’s. Joe had the dream but not the backing. Artemis Field-of-corn, an old friend of Joes who played the cave bear femur flute in his band “The Rolling Boulders” had connections but they came with conditions as well. “I told Joey I could get him enough sheep wool and wolf pelts but we would need to make some monuments for a few Gods, Thoth, Musagette, Cernunnos, and Tzets. A few nice stone pillars all connected like a dais, a table of stone for the Gods, ya know. We could use it as a stage! I had connections for some Granite and Bluestone from Sarsen. That’s when we brought in Michah. Micah: “I had a sweet rock quarry in Sarsen with the perfect stones for making monuments. Only problem was they were huge, hard to move.” The three visionaries had come across their first challenge, moving these two ton slabs of stone some five hundred miles to Witheridge. They went to their old friend Axle Roads from the rock and rumble band Bows and Bouquets who had invented the original Goodyear. Axle: “Micah and I used to race in reverse, we go back a long way. For some back monument passes and a few bags of crazy smoke I promised him my newest invention I called the flatbed could get the boulders to the site. Man he has good weed, haha” Axle delivered but became part of the problem from drinking to much solution. As treacherous as that was it would end up becoming the least of their problems. When we come back, Shepherds State Thruway shut down as thousands leave their chariots to walk to the Woodhenge Festival…….. (Another long pause, even more effect)

Woodhenge, Behind the Music, Three Days of Hunting, Gathering and Celtic Rock

woodhenge II

Part II
After months of planning and hard work the monuments were set, the invitations sent by marathon messenger service, and the weekend was set. The monument would be the stage for a huge array of rock and rumble bands, The Rolling Boulders to Crossbow, Stills, and Gnash. The problem now was finding enough pelts to pay the performers. The trio had gone over budget in the construction of the stage/monument. Rosenthorn: “Man I was like what the fornicate else could go wrong man? More pelts for the bands? I mean this was an opportunity, a chance to perform in front of a mass of hunters and gatheres that could pay off huge in their futures, but half the bands were greedy, expecting extra pelts. And the special requests were like off the branch man. Band members wanted crazy smoke, power powders, their own personal dressing caves, and one even requested a discreet affair with a Welsh sheep. I mean shit man, we couldn’t even get them to the stage let alone worry about finding a prostisheep. Hunters and gatheres came from everywhere man, like exotic places like Germanland and Pastaville. Fuggettaboutit! So many people showed up that they shut down The Shepherds State Thruway. People were abandoning their charriots right there in the paths. It was as if they knew instinctively this was the happening of a lifetime. Hell the happeneing of an entire epoch!” Rosenthorn was right, Pagans from as far away as Kazrockistan were there. Crowd control hadn’t even been conceived yet and the crowd was way out of control. Throwing off their animal skins and copulating right there on the fields. Something had to be done to calm the masses. That’s when Wavy Ravey, an entertainer and peace activist took the stage. “Holy shit man check it out man, there must be 200 thousand of you fornicaters out there man, The Shepherds State Thruway is closed man, hahaha. Lotta freaks, hahaha. We’re just about ready to get this show rumbling, are all you hunters and gatherers ready to rock?” The crowd stirred nervously not knowing what to expect until Wavy Ravey yelled really loud, “I said are you Mother Copulaters ready to rock and rumble?”
The crowd roared its approval as a dark skinned former hunter took to the stage with his horse hipbone and strings guitar and began playing music. It was Richmond Havenshire and he kicked off the show singing about freedom. It looked as if everything was finally going smooth, but back in the Mesolithic era, nothing ever stayed smooth for long. When we come back, Alexander the Great threatens to send in The Macedonia National Reserve jackbooted soldiers as the party crazed hunters and gatherers discover bronze, and the Kama Sutra….. (Insert pause here)

Woodhenge was in full flight, the bands were playing as the attendees let loose. Stoned out stone agers dancing naked, swimming in tiny waterholes, and making some noise. Too much noise according to neighbors of the sites owner, Maximus Yazgurian. “I’m a farmer, and I can barely speak to twenty other agriculturist at a time let alone half a million nomads, but they proved to the world that young people could get together for hunting gathering and music and have nothing but hunting, gathering, and music. I just wish my pain in the ether region neighbors saw it that way.” Here’s what the neighbors had to say, “Those hunters were disgusting, swinging their reproductive things all over the place, screaming and yelling. It was like watching a charriot wreck, disgusting yet I couldn’t take my eyes off of them!” ….. “I don’t know whats the matter with those kids, all hopped up on crazy smoke and Thor knows what else. I was scared, properly frightened for my life.” ….. “Someone should do something, come up with a multiple person explody thing or get word to the authorities. I went to feed my sheep and caught five young hunters engaging in a sexual act with them. I’ll tell you this, if my sheep end up giving birth to some kind of sheeperson or something I’m headed straight to the Enquirer. Somehow the news had gotten to an authority in the name of Alexander The great, who was well known for being jealous of anyone having more sex than he was. Alexander sent his fastest marathon messenger to Artemis who was proper frightened. Atremis: “Holy Isis I was shitting pottery squares, I mean Al the Great man, he don’t fucking play. One seriously mean mother humper. It wasn’t until I saw the falcon flying that I finally chilled. I knew that could only mean one thing, The Alchemist had traveled from the deserts of Egypt and if anyone could change Alexander’s wrath into fear it was The Alchemist.”
The Alchemist had indeed traveled to Woodhenge and not only had he brought relief to the festval co-ordinators, he had come to introduce the hunters to a new metal he had discovered in his search of gold. Bronze. Bronze would revolutionize not only hunting, but warring and and art as well. New protective gear could be made from this bronze, newer and more efficient killing utensils, and some tools for digging up earth. But what the Alchemist really intended the new metal for was for metal bands. He brought bronze sculpted musical instruments which would change the course of Rumble and Roll music forever. More versatile and more sounds from his bronze rams horn blower than the traditional ones, bronze saucers for the drumming rock kits, and a more durable and easily replaced bronze lute so band members could trash their instruments on stage. The first one to use these new bronze instruments was Ozzinald Ozzbourne, using the heavy metal instruments in his loud band, “Black Churchday” .. Ozzinald, “I was like I’m the fucking prince of darkness, that’s why the the the the the the alk, alchemist ghghghghh gfgdgdg the broze shit man. I’m the fucking prince of darkness.” Ozzinald’s mumbling was hard to understand and honestly we have no idea what he was saying but when he sang he sang beautifully and the crowd was mesmerized by Black Churdays new sound. In the very near future just about every rock and rumble band would be playing in bronze. But that wasn’t the most significant contributiuon The Alchemist made. When we return, Jefferson Airplane heads to Macedonia as the festival rumbles on. (Yup, another effective pause)

Like most others of his ilk The Alchemist had trained his falcon well. Quickly replacing the marathon messengers falcons all around the Nile were a much faster and more efficient means of communication. The Alchemists falcon, called Jeffersonm Airplane was one of the fastest, and fiercest. With a message and bag of gold nuggets Jefferson Airplane flew to Macedonia to pay a visit to Alex the Great. Artemis was relieved and gave The Alchemist some extra special crazy smoke to enjoy. “Man it was awesome, The Alchemist was so stoned he just sat there with a huge smile on his face. The bands were finally getting to and from the Woodhenge stage without effort and the crowd was under control. Then the mighty Thor made his prescence known with a loud crack of thunder followed by heavy rain. Neil Young Dude and the Kings Krazy Horses were on stage chanting no rain no rain which caught on quickly with the crowd. That was the first known sample of a rain dance and instead of ruining the ruins the crowd embraced it. They invented new games, mud wrestling, naked mud wrestling, and mud sliding.
The new game naked mud wrestling didn’t go unnoticed and was ripe for being exploited A stange Hindu reveler was amonst the Celtic Nomads by the Vatsyayana. He had recently published a codex of sexual acts he called The Kama Sutra, and he saw this as a golden showered opportunity for great publicity. His codex was a set of pictures and descriptions of many unusual positions that would bring smiles to both the hunters and the gatherers, with special tips on arousing the arrow tips of the hunters. “Holy Cow it was a dream come true. The young kids were so stoned it was easy to make them get in my strange poses like the downward spiraling anaconda thruster and my upward facing reverse holy cowgirl. And my god Vishnu they were more than willing to try every position in my codex. My sales would be through the Himalaya tops.” The sexual revolution ready to explode and before the end of the decade gatherers would be stripping, dancing around maypoles, and giving lap ceremonial maneuvers. Spider webcams would be popping up hidden in caves and hunters would be popping up underneath their loincloths. The Mesolithic era was becoming the Meso lick it era.
In the end history would forget Woodhenge and be replaced by the mysteries of the monuments ruins. But at the time revelers surprised the world by leaving peacefully, contented and educated, and they even cleaned up as they left. Three days after the fesival there was little evidence that a half million nomads had gathered, listened to Rumble and Roll music, experimented with sexual positions in the fields, partied their asses of and left. All that remained was the monument. Artemis: “When the three of us saw how weird it looked, no longer looking like a stage at all with just the monument stones standing in a circle Micah had an idea.” Micah: “Maybe I was still high from all the drugs sex and rumble and roll but a thought occurred to me and I laughed. What if we just never tell anyone else about this and in time everyone forgets. People will come here and wonder what the intercourse is this? We laughed for hours wondering what strange explantions they may come up with. Imagine what a goof that would be, hehehe.” Strange explanations indeed, the “goof” as they called it was prophetic as history would scratch its chronologic head for centuries to come wondering how and why these giant monoliths appereared out of no where. They still stand today but the Legend Of Woodhenge will be forever lost. Except by us hipsters anyway! I’m Marksamus Goodman and this has been an eMp Tee V music channel exclusive.

Kaleidoscope Joe and His Amazing Psychedelic Jean Jacket (Act I)

joe K

(Dedicated to Deadheads and music lovers around the world)

In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams; unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me

-Attics of my life- Robert Hunter/Grateful Dead

The storyteller never tells you what to think, merely observes and reports the facts as he or she observes the world around them. Every once in awhile if a storyteller is extremely lucky they are afforded insight into stories that predate paper and shed light on mystical ancient occurrences, like looking through a kaleidoscope into a scattered view of history. This storyteller had the great fortune, or misfortune as some may call it, to have worn the coat of past truths and peered into a life that has so long ago finished its tale, and attempt to formulate them into a narrative in such a way as to enlighten the listener. The day I put on the psychedelic Jean Jacket I viewed the tale of Kaleidoscope Joe, son of Jacob the Ganja man from Canaan. My duty is to shed a light on that which I saw and allow you make of this tale what you will. No need to pay me off in silver, I offer this up as a storyteller, a humble servant of the universe. Let me just say this though, if ever you find yourself in the position to don the jacket an open mind and little weed of wisdom will make the journey much more colorful and far easier to understand.
How I came across this magic jean jacket is not a special story, just a bit of luck while clearing out the attic of an old acquaintance that recently passed over to the next realm. In a small cabinet marked “Peyote Pinechest” was an assortment of smoking aids and implements designed for inhaling intoxicating fumes of various mind enrichment products. Folded neatly at the bottom was a jean jacket of rainbow dayglo pigments, a “coat of many colors.” A rather unexciting and mundane find although steeped in fond memories of the days Kevin and I ruled the world. But then I tried it on. From the moment it covered my shoulders I knew I had inadvertently stumbled on to something unique, not only in look, but in attribute. You see, anyone who wears this visionary jacket begins to see past truths, ancient occurrences that have long been forgotten and stored away in the attics of the mind. This is the storytellers account of just such a leap of faith.

Act I
The Music Never Stopped

All I know is something like a bird
within her sang
All I know she sang a little while
and then flew on
-Robert Hunter-

As I opened the peyote pinechest it made an unusual sound, a sound that seemed to have been waiting forever to escape its pinewood confines. The sound was followed by an aroma, one not altogether unfamiliar. It wasn’t a musty mothballesque aroma nor a musty mold laced scent one might expect, but rather a sweet woodsy smell, reminiscent of an excursion of mine back in ‘73 to Jamaica. I was in Ochos Rios when I met a Rastafarian, Herbie. Herbie had long ago thrown away his comb so he sported long matted locks of hair almost to his waist which he called dreadlocks. He looked to be all of 25 years of age though his eyes betrayed a life long and hard, an old man with the eyes of the world. He sized me up, a white American youth with very long hair and a semi full beard. “Welcome my friend, I am a Rasta, cool like you Mon. My name is Herbie, man of the Herb, please come into my hut.” I would later learn that the early Rastafarians fancied themselves the equivalent of American Hippies, a generation of rebels who took a stand against government and borrowed the term “cool“ as a bonding statement. The hotel I was staying at had warned me about dangerous Rasta’s and scams in town designed to have Americans incarcerated. Bunny, the banjo player at the hotel explained to me that in Jamaica they believe all Americans are rich, and some corrupt cops set up buy and busts with phony Rasta’s expecting the young Americans to call home and send money to avoid jail from illegal possession of Ganja. I ignored the warnings because Herbie was cool. Like me. Once inside the hut my ignored fears disappeared completely because my instincts were correct. For a change. Inside Herbie’s hut a small boom box rumbled out some obscure reggae tunes. An Ethiopian flag was hanging on one canvas wall and posters of Bob Marley and Haile Selassie scattered on the others. An assortment of pipes and rolling machines in a makeshift bookcase was propped up on the back wall. Sitting on top of the bookshelf under a knitted cloth of red green and yellow stood a small Buddha statue with a trail of smoke emanating form its head. Inside the statue was not incense, but fresh Jamaican ganja that actually smelled of sweetness. It was that aroma this chest invoked and that’s where my vision begins.
I breathed in as if I could get a hit of that sweet smelling ganja as I examined the contents of Kevin’s peyote Pinechest. A spectacular looking jacket reached up and grabbed me by the eye. I vaguely remembered my best friend Kevin wearing it back in our youth. It was a Lee Rider jean jacket his girlfriend Bonnie had customized for him. Bonnie was a Native American young woman with an exotic air about her. Her long straight hair was so dark black it earned her the nickname Onyx. Onyx came from somewhere in Arizona part of a Yaqui Indian tribe who were known for their spiritual pipe smoking out of body practices. It was rumored they often used hallucinogenic herbs and roots of cacti in their rituals which explained the peyote pinechest. Onyx was skilled in various art forms having air brushed a number of vans in town but her local claim to fame was art of silk-screening. She had a fine business making extraordinary psychedelic looking tee shirts of rock bands but she silk-screened Kevin’s jacket for him special as a birthday present. It was magnificent, bright color in an intricate design that that would make peter Max jealous. I tried it on which put me in a trance.
There I was back in Herbies hut, Herbie rolling a stick of ganja in paper coated with oil essence of hashish. We shared the joint which was even tastier than the smell from Buddha’s head when a very old man entered the scene . The old man looked as though he walked out from the Old Testament, dressed in tattered rags and sandals and sporting a long scraggly grey beard and long thin white hair to his waist. He motioned to me come over which I did. In his hand he held a three foot long pipe made of human bone he was filling with something. He lit it, took a long inhale and passed it to me. “I am Joseph, from Carlisle in the land of The Canaanites, perhaps you know me better as Kaleidoscope Joe.” I took a long hit from the pipe, it seemed like it took all my breath to get the tiniest hit of smoke all the way from the bowl to my lungs. I shook my head to let him know I had no clue who he was. He handed me an old photo of a very sad looking man perhaps from the Middle East staring at a strikingly beautiful woman. “Well then, finish this bowl of ganja, I’ll tell you a story.”

Lady With A Fan
His name is August West, and he was in love with that lady there, Pearly Baker, the lady with the fan. Unfortunately Old August had a pension for wine, but not just any wine, his homemade power burgundy. Pearly was beautiful, a wonderful woman an August loved her true, in fact I was in love with her too. You see, August there is my brother, and Pearly Baker came between us forcing us to choose. August, drunk though he was, had a fierce determination and wasn’t afraid of anything. Pearly pitted us against each other with a challenge. “Which of you to gain me tell will risk uncertain pains of hell?” She tossed the fan into a pit of vipers, “The first to retrieve my fan from these snakes shall have me in every way you wish.” I sensed Pearly enjoyed the power of having us fight to be the one to bed her. I weighed my options, will having my way with Pearly justify what I would need to o to my brother? Even if I could beat August what kind of a wife would Pearly be? I doubted that challenges would ever stop, her desire to challenge too great but August wasted no time at all. He pushed me aside, reached into the pit of vipers risking venomous snake bites grabbing and offering up her fan as proof of his devotion. The old man paused looking at me. “You saw it didn’t you? You didn’t hear my tale you experienced it right? It’s okay, I know, this pipe is filled with wisdom which has entered your soul. You will see things you probably should not see many years from now. We will meet again my friend, when you are ready.” The man left so I turned to Herbie, “So Mon, you lika my ganga? Twenty bucks for you because your cool like me Mon.” I handed Herbie the twenty dollar bill and he gave me an ounce of preamo weed. He had been doing something with a razor on the table, I asked, “Did you know that old dude Herbie?” He smiled, “No Mon, no old man was here. But many strange ting happen in my hut, have a taste of dis before you leave Mom, make sure you come back.” Hernbie handed me a mirror with two long line of a whitish yellow powder and a short straw. I sniffed the coke an walke3d back out to the street. What Herbie had for sale was so good I knew I would be back tomorrow for more. As I walked down the street I heard someone say, “Strategy was his strength and not disaster.” Kevin would never believe me if I didn’t bring some back.

With that I found myself back up in the attic all by myself remembering how I smuggled ganga and cocaine back for Kevin in a container of baby powder . Apparently I was sweating and had removed the psychedelic jean jacket snapping me from the trance. I folded the jacket and put it aside trying to remember if that ol man was a real memory or a hallucination from the peyote pinechest as I explored the other treasures inside its confines . Kevin had stored quite an assortment of smoking utensils, a few chamber pipes, a meerschaum pipe, a cob pipe, a half dozen bongs, two hookahs, and at the very bottom of the chest was his prized chillum. The chillum was a ceramic straight conical pipe which you hold between your fingers in a fisted hand and smoke through the thumb an index finger essentially making your fist a bowl of smoke. We both loved that pipe, it was so unusual. Reminiscing I lit up the chillum to smoke any remnants from resonated bowl. I thought back to when he first bought the chillum, as usual in those days Kev and I were together. We had set out on a mission to Woodstock NY to get a tattoo at the Shooting Star Tattoo Parlor. The owner/artist, Country Paul, had gone to the original concert and never left town. Along with his artwork of potential tattoo’s he had a showcase in his shop filled with various pieces of crystal and a few small pipes. Kevin spotted the chillum right away and had to have it. It had an Indian Hindu inspired design, a very cool looking concentric design of geometric shapes Country called it a Chakra, or wheel. Of course Kevin had that design tattooed on his bicep while I viewed some of Country‘s other works he had on the “wall of choice.” Being in a dark period of my life I was drawn to a picture Country Paul called The Redeemer and the clay. It wasn’t like Christ the redeemer it was an old man with long hair and a long beard in a long red robe walking with a cane with a human skull on top. He was pulling an old wooden wagon filled with clumps of clay. It looked so cool I had it tattooed on the inside of my forearm. Those were the days, when we believed ourselves indestructible. As I smoked whatever remnants I could scrape from the chillum I stared at my tattoo. As I exhaled the old smoke I realized the redeemer pulling the wagon was the same man I had seen, or maybe not seen in Herbies hut so long ago.

What shall we say, shall we call it by a name
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin
Water bright as the sky from which it came
And the name is on the earth that takes it in
We will not speak but stand inside the rain
And listen to the thunder shout
I am, I am, I am, I am
-John Perry Barlow/Grateful Dead-
The Wind And Rain
Jacob was a good man, a successful man living in a place called Canaan. A farmer who plowed the fields in which he grew the sweet mind bending tobaccos which afforded him a fine home for his wife and family. Jacob was happily married to his second wife Rachael and an outstanding role model to his twelve boys. His first wife Leah was Rachael’s older sister and the mother of eleven of the boys. Jacob and Rachael had only one son together, Joseph, who was shown special favor by his father. While the other boys worked the fields that supplied Sativa and opium for the royals of the Orient with their father, Joseph stayed behind to help his Mom. Joseph was an amazing cook who had a natural talent for making hashish cupcakes. “You must knead the hash in softened butter first before adding it to the batter. That’s what makes them so special” He often entertained himself by spending hours looking through a cylinder of changing colors and shapes. This earned him the nickname Kaleidoscope Joe, and the jealous wrath of his siblings who simply called him Clyde.
“Why are we out here busting our asses while that little priss Clyde lounges in the kitchen staring through that stupid cylinder of his?” “That wimpy Clyde never worked a day in his life.” The grumbling never ceased. As always Jacob stood up for his favorite son, “Come on guys quit complaining, we have fields to tend to afore all that’s left is the wind and rain. Joseph is the best cook ever and his cupcakes are to die for. You guys all enjoy the food so he works the kitchen while you work the fields. Now lets finish up here, there’s a barn dance Friday and I understand the woodcutters daughter will be there. They all turned to look across the field to the riverbank where the woodcutters daughter often knelt down at to gather water. A beautiful woman with dark skin, as brown as the bank. It’s said she knows secrets the water has told her. She wasn’t there today, only the sun sparkling off the reeds into the sea. Jacobs son August was especially smitten with her. “Oh man, she has the sweetest voice, her song is the latch on the door to my heart. I live to follow her as she walks the path to the river shore come the morning sun.” The other boys began chuckling as Jacob shook his son from his daydream, “Okay poet, enough of that talk we have fields to plow. The work of day measures far more than the planting and growing alone. We must let it grow.” August was still dreamy, “For the time I shall break ground to reap bushels of cannabis and poppy meal, but Friday I shall dance with my lady in circular motion, just me and Pearly.” Jacob laughed, “Right now you can dance in the furrowed field my son, you only reap that which you sow. Tread lightly with your lady friend, if you plant ice your gonna harvest wind my son”

Did you ever waken to the sound
Of street cats makin’ love
And guess from their cries
You were listenin’ to a fight?
Well, you know…
Hate’s just the last thing they’re thinkin’ of.
They’re only trying to make it through the night.
-John Perry Barlow/Grateful Dead

Excitement had been building all week so when Friday finally arrived the air was ripe with anticipation. Jacobs twelve boys would be out on the prowl and the ladies in town stood no chance. As usual it would be refusal and then surrender, the boys eager to sow their wild oats. Jacob was concerned for his son Joseph because Joe didn’t posses the strength and experience of his older brothers so before they left Jacob presented him with a special coat, a coat of many colors. Now Joseph would no doubt be the sharpest dressed man at the dance and have a much needed edge. While Kaleidoscope Joe was overjoyed, his brothers were angry and grew ever more envious of how Joe was shown so much favor from their father. Joe was oblivious to his brothers envy and openly admired his good looks in the mirror. “I can’t believe how great this coat looks, I am gonna get me a fine woman tonight, a woman I can cook for.” August sneered, “You just hang around Loose Lucy little brother, save the real women for men who know what to do with them. And stay far away from Pearly, she’s mine tonight.” Joseph teased, “I don’t see no ring or no name on her brother, but I’m not interested in hr anyway.”
At the dance Joseph was strutting like egotistic peacock flashing his baby blue eyes and full on smile at all the ladies which only added fuel the burning flames of jealousy which crackled within the boys. Especially August. When Joseph began flirting with Pearly Baker the mule shit hit the fan. Livid and pumped with jealousy August rounded up all the brothers and formed a cabal outside the barn. “Guys we just can’t have this anymore. Something needs to be done about Clyde and it has to be tonight. Even after I stuck my hand in a pit of vipers he flirts with the girl of my dreams. I have a plan to get rid of Clyde forever” They were all in agreement, each hating their little brother for differing reasons. August continued, “There this guy Jack Straw who smuggles slaves over to Egypt and not only will he take Clyde away, he’ll give us s few bottles of whiskey on top of it. We can dip that hideous colored coat Dad gave him and coat it with goat blood. Then We’ll tell Pops he was killed at the point of a knife. We can rid ourselves of that nuisance and get on with our lives. We can share the women and we can share the wine.”
So it was, Kaleidoscope Joe was smuggled out as a slave, the boys telling Jacob his favorite son had been jumped for his ring, kaleidoscope, four bucks and change outside of Delilah Jones brothel. Jacob cried for nights wishing it weren’t true but he had the coat of many colors all covered in blood. The next thing this story teller saw was Joseph dragging a cart of clay. I realized I was no longer looking at my tattoo and the chillum was gone. I shook my head back an forth with great force in an attempt to regain some reality when I heard a voice from the past. “JT that coat looks beautiful on you, you should keep it. I have no doubt Kevin would want you to.” I knew that voice instantly. Smiling I turned, “Onyx, my god how are you? How long has it been? You look fantastic.” That’s when I realized I was once again wearing the jacket Onyx had fashioned special for Kevin. I removed it and found myself drenched in sweat. I folded it up, “No Onyx, you made it for him you should have it. I’m not even sure why I had it on.” To my dismay I was alone in the attic, no Onyx, no Jamaican Rastafarian, no Joseph from the old testament. I took the coat flung it over my shoulder. Time to get a drink.

Behind The Music, Stoned-henge Stock , 420 BC


Woodstock is considered to be the first ever mass gathering of a rock an roll concert although many, myself included would argue it began at The Monterey Pop Festival during the summer of love. But recent discoveries by archeologist show that we are all wrong, the true first weekend of peace love and music was put on by the Pagans in the UK at a place called Stone-henge in 420 BC. Before Alan Freed the rebellious music wasn’t called rock and roll, it was called stone and stumble and it was a big part of their counter culture. Take this recently found papyrus music sheet with song lyric scribed by Lady Joni of Mitchell for the popular Pagan harmonizing genius’s Crossbow, Whiskystills, and Nash-hash:
I came upon a child in the fields
Whilst walking along the path
I enquired “where dost thou walk to”
And this is what he told me
I walk along to Maximus Yasgurwoods farm
To join in a stone and stumble band
Set our camp along the henge
To seteth thy soul free
Thou art starburst
Thou art goldstone
And we got to plant ourselves back in our garden

By the time we got to Stonehenge
We were a couple thousand strong
And everywhere was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw a sun god
Riding shotgun in the sky
And we all turned into whippoorwills
Above the nation

This relic was found with other ancient artifacts including a lute believed to be owned by Jimi Henbicks which he played with his teeth during a searing rendition of “Castles Made Of Sandstone”, and a clown nose belonging to Wavy-Ravey. The discoveries hve led scientists to believe that Stoned-henge was originally built as a stage for Stone and Stumble bands across the UK back in the day. WAY back in the day, 420BC, The Flintstone years, 10 million strong…. and growing. The Stoners Age when Bedrockpalooza and Occupy Rock Quarry were popular. Archeologists now believe that the Stonehenge ruins are all that’s left of an enormous soundstage which played to thousands of young partying Pagans, some who danced naked and took to frolicking openly, many while under the influence of barleycorn weed, a popular and tasty intoxicant when smoked. That weekend celebration of love, life, sex, drugs and stumble and stone music changed their world forever. Well actually it changed it only until the brutal Roman soldiers invaded the lands of the Pagans forcing them into chains of Roman rule but that’s another documentary. Before that devastating event the only event anyone spoke of was the three days of Love, Peace, and Music (and rain) on Maximus Yasgurwoods sheep farm known as Stoned-henge Stock.

Stoned-henge Stock was the brainstorm of childhood friends Ian Kellerlay and Declan Mc Intyre of Brea Scarra Off the coast of Scotland. They had the incredible insight to create a venue that could unite all the various pagan music styling’s of the UK. With top acts like the blues singer Janus, Canned Campfire, Dublin Bay Dirtwater Revival, Countryside Joe McDougal and the 12 fishermen, Bronze Zeppelin, The Ungracious Dead, Jefferson Chariot, The Immobile Stones, and The Salisbury Hill Stompers, nine music scenes in all would be represented. Each of the nine music scenes were represented by a giant stone indicative of its region to “represent“!

It’s believed the festival lasted three days and nights showcasing some 30 Stone and Stumble acts to almost 40,000 jubilant attendees. The crowd was so large the New English Chariot Thru-way was closed. Lotta freaks man! Tremendous efforts were made to feed the crowds, nearly 500 pounds of haggis was prepared for crowd consumption. Breakfast in bed for 40 thousand! Two children were born, a number of rug burns and other sex related casualties occurred, and one person died but all in all the festival was considered a life changing success. Or disaster, depending which news media you paid attention to. This is Behind The Music, the truth behind Stoned-henge Stock 420BC, The two part series presented by our sponsor, “Be My Bud“, the leaders in the legal marijuana industry. “We grow em so you can roll em.” So set your DVR for the upcoming mini series. Watch hundreds of pagans drinking, smoking, and flipping out on pebble peyote, get the inside story from some of the acts, and find out what happened to this sheep farming community when the music stopped.