One
My memories of the United States are, to say the least, mixed. The
mescaline came from there, pure nature from the Mojave Desert. The woman with
the green eyes came from there (‘lenses, silly’), the one who rolled the pills
in her suitcase to the Vondelpark where I was floating about in my embroidered
Moroccan shirt. And the guru came from there, or at least the Divine Light
Mission of which he was the financial and spiritual leader. Headquarters:
Denver Colorado. The Moroccan shirt had turned into a three piece suit when I
was out again on its doorstep after five years of devotion.
Together with Janny I’ll have a look around to see what I remember.
Finally, after more than thirty years, an attempt to explain why I then
abandoned everything, including her. I think, while ‘twelve thirty’ of the
Mamas & Papas is playing in the background. I’ve never really outgrown that
time. And why should I? So in the luggage go The Lovin’ Spoonful, The Beatles
(sure, Sgt. Pepper’s), Dylan (Blond on Blond, obviously!), Crosby, Stills, Nash
and Young (Déjà vu, no discussion), Melanie (Born To Be) en Pink Floyd (Atom
Heart Mother) for a trip cross country USA.