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San Fran Walls Crumble, Sand Blows, Waves Wash Mar 26th-Apr 3rd, 2003
By Team Pure Hemp 4/2/2017 11:56 AM Comments

H.ope E.xists, M.other P.rovides
So I ended up hooking up with Alex who had the missing drum on Tuesday in the Haight. I’d gone up on Monday to meet him, but we couldn’t hook up, and I kind of wondered if it would all work out, because I was doubting a bit. So we met up in the evening and I was relieved and happy to see him. He’s really stoked to be involved, loves to drum, dance and has good energy. I should ask him where he’s from. Maybe Turkey. He explained to me what happened when he got separated by a row of police, they jostled him and the next thing he knew, the drum fell and split the skin. He took the drum to the Haight music shop and got it fixed. When he brought it to me, it had a brand new clear Turkish drum- head on it. I couldn't believe it when he told me the story. I tell ya, peace activists are the nicest folks. I went over to Rock ’n Java to try to send last week’s update. I have a card for the laptop that allows you to log-in to the Ethernet. I spent over an hour trying to get it to work, before realizing that I didn’t have the CD that is necessary to install the Card. Oh, well it’s in the mail...It worked out well that I was in Rock ’n Java, because there was an open mic and I could sit there and soak in the local talent anyways. I thought of signing up to say the RELIEF poem (I gotta come up with some new stuff), but the list was full. In the meantime, there was a beautiful Sister named Tareeka who was doing some spoken word/ singing, and was looking for some Rhythm to rap to. Me and another brother stepped up, joining her onstage for the feature performance. Brother had a hollow wood block with slits cut into it, causing the different sized panels to resonate when he played it with his mallets. We improvised, starting slowly and quietly, feeling out the vibe of the piece. The first song called for a heartbeat rhythm, which helped me to relax, get comfortable, and be aware of the sound of the drum in relation to the others. We all synched really well, Tareeka led us, sharing her words and inspiration, being open and flexible to our drumming. Bro had a good knowledge of rhythms and time, so we were able to compliment each other in a truly inspiring creation. People dug it, and it was fun perform. While in the Haight, I saw the crowd in front of the Red Victorian, waiting in line for Noam Chomsky’s new film In Our Times. Ooh, Noam’s got a new movie out, it must be good. Mellody and I went to see it, meeting up with Willow, who ended up being disrespectful and drunk. He fell asleep and snored through the movie, light glinting off the beer can between his legs. I’ll speak with him about the incident, and maybe this part will disappear, but in the meantime, he was a let-down. He’d called, and asked what I was doing, and I figured a bit of Noam would be good for him. I guess he just wasn’t in the headspace for such an
evening. Willow not withstanding, the film was good. Chomsky’s like a grandpa, explaining U.S. foreign policy in clear, unfiltered, and realistic terms. He helps to cut through all of the media’s hype and distractions, and brings to the surface the issues of true importance, namely human lives, environmental toll, and their correlation to US Policy. Noam’s critical analysis of the U.S. Government raises eyebrows of the wary and the fists of the aware. He gives conclusive evidence of America’s greedy and violent tendencies. The U.S. supports brutality only when committed for the right reason... Globalization a la American Corporation. Latin America, Cuba, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Israel/Palestine, Indonesia and many others are all testament to American supported Terrorism. History clearly shows America’s aggressive "Peace" Tactics. America’s version of peace is like a big fat adolescent boy sitting on his younger brother until his brother stops squirming and gasping and writhing and spitting and biting, and doing anything he can to get out from underneath. If questioned, the fatso would just say; "what? I didn’t do nothing, he’s the one who’s attacking me." I know how the big brother works. I was one, but maybe not quite so bad. I used to be fat, selfish and manipulative. I’m not saying I’m not now, but I’m less. I used to weigh 250 pounds, wore a size 40 waistband, and ate Mc Donalds on my breaks, because I WORKED THERE. I'd eat double quarter pounders with double cheese, with fried onions (I worked there) and the grease would just be dripping off of it, as I stretched my big mouth over this hunk of beef(ish), surrounded by a good- for-nothing white bun, I’d scarf down a side of fries, a super-stuffed medium, dipped in mayonnaise, drinking all the soda a boy could ask for. McDonalds was almost like a family. We went skiing, shopping, went to plays, and played softball for the Lundy's Lane team in an inter-store tournament. We’d party together and work together. We were the Crew. High school, and McDonalds is what we knew. I could walk from Westlane, or ride a bus. Punch-in. time- in, cash in, check in, buns in, meat down, headset on, beeep, beeep, beeep, Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?... The corporation knows order. Ordered buns, ordered burgers, cups, procedures and buttons. Take burgers from the left and orders from the Reich. There were sounds connected to cookers, fryers, toasters and humans, consumers driving thru life, eating ads and a dream. Dreamt up by the marketing man behind the Burger in the window. They tease us and tempt us and sway us and deceive us. Make-believe us at an early age to accept an image in our minds, rather than the truth beside our tooth. As we eat the junk, our mind overrides our body, accepting low- grade food that’s both fattening and shoddy. Bah-ling, bah-ling as the next car drives thru. The Crew are programmed from an early age to listen for noises relating to functions on the production line. Integrating the human into the corporate machine. We're making the Elite class even more green, off non-union backs. Work, school, T.V, Crew Outings and Meetings, and Crew Magazine coupled with managers trained by The School of Hamburger-ology consistently fed us McDomination with lies on the side. No need for unions here! Accept global corporate proliferation. It’s nothing to Fear! The Dead played on Friday in Marin County for the Family. This was a special, fund-raiser, and would be a goodie. Mellody and I were planning to go, after Critical Mass at five. It was a loose plan, but a plan none-the-less. Throughout the day I’d been weighing the options, the Dead was a shot in the dark, a miracle ticket, on the day Hemphry first returned from the mechanic. I ran late and happened upon some critical mass'ers who needed a ride from Berkley to San Fran. Critical Mass to Stop the War? or Dead Family dancing with one hell-of-a-Lady? Hmmmn. Some times, my mind goes blurry, usually when I’m all in a hurry. Our communication had been iffy, her moves, a bit stiffy, causing me to think she weren’t coming. With her out, how could I drive way up there? when I could ride my bike here, which is what I like.
The long, drawn out, somewhat intense and passionate story short, is that I chose Critical mass, bicycles, and action to Stop the War over The Dead, their mama, Morning Light and family, entrance and a spot to set up a table, inside and all, unbeknownst to me. It was a choice I’d made, not fully aware, but enough to know of the ramifications which could ensue. Mellody in her kind way had made some calls and pulled some strings, and wanted to surprise me. I didn’t give her the chance, riding alone en’mass, rather than to drive with her and dance. It’s a subconscious, re-occurring issue in my life, one that has caused Erin (my past–lady-lover) heart-ache and strife. It’s a Gemini trait, they say, kind of... "Like the morning sun I come, and Like the wind I go"... The plan had been to escape into the trees in Marin after that. After him'in
and haw-in, talking, jawing, staring and sharing, we decided to leave on Saturday afternoon. We drove to Muir Beach and made Sunset for a vis
it with the Ocean. Oh the magnificent Pacific Ocean. The waves are healing and we both felt so good to be out of the city and next to the Body of the Pacific. Just breathing and being present, feeling the sway of all that water. We left aimlessly, stopping soon after to look at a map, looking for a place to sleep. Neither of us knowing where to go, we decided to head North on Highway One. We passed the Muir Beach Overlook where me and Robin and Grant slept my first night in Marin. It was dark, and the road is windy, so we drove slowly, passing Stinson as traffic began to thin. Dogstown is tiny and is just South of Point Reyes State Park. We drove into the park, heading a bit inland, uncharacteristic for Highway One. We found a chill spot along the road, which near, but not busy. I’d just finished snapping up the curtains, when the park ranger drove up and told us that there was no camping there, but that we could try in Bolinas. We got into Bolinas, parked in front of the bar, and wound up heading over to the community centre to see Argentine music. The band, from Fairfax was incredible, causing us to dance all night. The next day Melody and me took a long walk along the Ocean, picking shells, stones and other treasures of Mother Nature’s bounty. We have been engaging in ongoing talks and teaching and healing. We have had a lot to share with each other, and it’s been a good time of sharing and healing. The Ocean is so healing, and so are we. I wrote this beside the Ocean on Sunday. Sitting here beside the Ocean, Beside Bolinas Crawls along a small crustacean. Looks like some kind of shrimp, or squid Resembling an insect or maybe arachnid. Oh the treasures of the Ocean. Boundless in depth, (leg, tickled by shrimp) Bordered by cliffs, walls of sandstone and shale, Continuously crumbling, tumbling and mingling, Causing in my being a tingling. The forces of time and Nature Manifested in sand meeting the sea. Worn by the wind, and washed in the water. Her bountiful, beautiful, mystical, magical, rhythmical, cyclical, seasonal, sensation-all ways nurturing body of land. Shaped by the patient, ever flowing hand of Creation’s Creator. Now. There is nothing greater. I give thanks! Check out the Circle of Life Foundation for some good info about Luna and Julia Butterfly and her ordeals on our behalf. Thanks for reading and thanks for showing this on other sites checkout jamhub.ca for the Vibes on the Canadian Jam Band Scene. If anyone else wants to display it to get the word out and whatnot, feel free, I just ask that you please try to restore the links so that it all works. This internet is just so cool! Thanks, and feel free to e-mail me with feedback and suggestions. One Love, Two wheels.

~ Johannes Chapman, Pure Hemp Caravaner 1.0

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