Everybody Hurts and Nobody Wins

Reflections in a Petri Dish – March 17, 2011

Dog Poet K-Transmitting…….

‘Always remember that Cheech and Chong could have done the dog thing better. Big up to Fifi!’

About a year ago… and I am assuming or presupposing most of what I say, because I don’t have the curiosity to go check and I am in the land of vitamin intensives at the moment which is why this post may take a lot longer than the usual half hour of rata tat tat …because, I am reclining like the universe stretched out across itself and admiring the endless callipygian rondulars of its expanse, tailing away into the darkness like the passing of a comet or the taillights of a 1969 Cadillac El Dorado, with no bodies in the trunk.

I have to say that I misbehaved on purpose, regular, in former times, because it was the only way to keep the people pestering me to be a guru from turning me into one. Real event; I was sent to the Petersburg Reformatory, in Petersburg Virginia, around the time of the Robert Kennedy assassination for 60-90 days observation. It was a gladiator school and I don’t think they ever saw anyone like me come in there before. Surely, someone from that period can do the research because there have to be people still living that were there then like; John Reed, or Ian Fralich who did the Be-ins at P Street Park and owned a headshop; The Source? The MTA’s and some of the prisoners should still be alive. I was known as Leslie William Crook at that time. I’m not lying. After a few days they put the nametag ‘guru’ outside my cell where I held court.

They used to like to bring in the other guards to let them see me kick the tile walls with the ball of my foot and make them ring. I got a piece of flexible white cardboard and wrote The Supreme Grand Dragon on it and had pictures of The Beatles and The Maharishi all glued on. I had no idea what the title meant which was ironic. I was 23 years old and still in the kundalini uproar that lasted for 3 years from ’67 to ’70.

I was standing by the front cage on the day that Kennedy got killed and there was a TV playing. Off to my left was a dorm ward cell dormitory L shaped with 8 black guys and John Reed. They were all in there from catching the clap from raping some boy and they were a surly lot. While I was standing there, one of the MTA’s sad to me, “guru, close the door”. There was a door open to my right. It was a couple of feet away and out of my reach. I turned and said, “It’s coming to me and the door opened into my hand. The cats in the cell dorm went bananas as I then pushed it closed, boom!

One of the MTA’s said, “You’d better settle down in there or I’m going to send guru in after you. I walked right over to the cell door and said “Yeah” and they all jumped under their beds. True story.

Couple of times some guys snuck in to where I was, intending to rape me and I put them down like children. I took a sock and stuffed it with wet toilet paper and got ten plastic bottles and made myself a bowling alley in the main hall. I could add lots of color and highlights but I don’t need to.

One time I was on acid at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware and I was bringing the waves in to shore with the reins of my hand and a writer from Newsweek came to me and wanted to write an article about me. The second time Elvis Presley found me, in Palm Springs; I was sitting on a park bench and doing that with cars pulling up to the stoplight. I know it all sounds like completely wacked out but it happened none the less. One of the readers here was with me when I was on a plane, hijacked from Albuquerque, New Mexico when some black nationalist hijacked the plane and I made friends with them. The Washington Post even printed my poem in praise of them. One of them sat with me and we chatted during the flight to Tampa. Then they went to Cuba. I asked them to take me with them but they wouldn’t. The FBI had a field day with that. It was even better than the story about when I met Charlie Manson. You might ask how come nobody ever heard about me. Well, I’m Les Visible.

I’m leaving out the really world shaking shit that happened but you can imagine, maybe. And I didn’t even get a t-shirt. I never got much of anything except the one thing I was looking for and he still likes to play hide and seek. So, I don’t want to play guru because I don’t know shit and I ‘know’ that I don’t know it. People were pretty cruel to me because of who I am routinely but there were some real bright spots and I have not forgotten one of then. They are why I am alive against all odds and when I write certain brutal poetry like Bad Leroy Bustin Caps, I know what I am talking about. I have faced down Bad Leroy more than once with no one but my invisible friends to help and people, who have gone driving with me know that almost anything can happen and that I will not let you down if you are my friend.

The thing is that no one owns Krishna or Hare and no one owns the Vedas. These traditionalists all have these pompous disputes with each other to pump up their own celebrity, when a common fool might know that god prefers a humble person. Any time some one comes around and grabs my coat about scripture and tells me I am not in line with his jumped up program of acquiring and regulating. It looks like a bank and its got something to do with money, somewhere, somehow, it has to do with money. I know what Dvaita is and I know what Advaita is. I know where Shankaracharya and Buddhism are comporting about the different, this, that, this… It’s just words….

I wrote that piece out of my sincere love for god and Hare Krishna is just a greeting too. It was only a poem in praise of what I hold in the dearest place in my heart. I didn’t think about attacking scripture and originally I had penned the poem to Ganesha. Somehow it comes back to me that you are laying in wait or something for me to do what? I don’t know. Maybe I am amiss at my studies. I don’t know the Vedas like you do. I know very little about my ineffable and all I have ever held on to was love. I might have abused love when I was young but Love was my goal all along. The search for truth drove me and I have never had anything to build with, or to make, except myself and my life is almost over now. I have not had an easy life, these few years with Susanne have been most of the ease that I have known and it does not ease. Still.

So I write a poem for my good friend Ganesh lord of the devic realm and I changed the title to suit you, which I did, because you have to have it your way. Yes! That is why it is now called Hare Krishna because it was originally called Lord Ganapati. I changed it for you personally and never told you, just to be agreeable with you. I know Lord Ganapati- Ganesha does not mind and Krishna does not mind but I wanted to be your friend and the friend of your fellowship. I was going to come and visit you at the Grand Kumbhamela. So I changed the name of the poem about the be all and end all to suit you, cause I don’t care and they don’t care; only you care.

I have no contact with you and…. Do you see? Now you come to my Facebook page and throw down on me like Krishna is your boy. What are you thinking? What is it that you should be thinking? You should not stop a person from making a prayer to God because he didn’t sign in…. or …. Or… I don’t know; buy a ticket on a ride called the Krishnasaurus?. Well, now everybody can listen to it and tell me if you think I did a bad thing. Anyway, I never actually had to mention you.

End Transmission

Lord Ganapati (with apologies to Lord Krishna for being a knucklehead)



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