MONDAY, JUNE 12, 2006


They were matriculating all over the country and our local school district was no exception. Young men and women only a blink of an eye ago who were babies and toddlers and pre-schoolers and kindergateners and elmentary and middle schoolers were finally in the big time: High School! and now are graduating seniors. Parents are astounded, surprised, shook up, pleased, happy, teary eyed, and determined to celebrate in the grandest style we can muster, with barbecues, parties, family get togethers, presents, hugs and outlandish decorations, all leading to the big event itself: commencement.

It was no different at our house. We have a daughter who graduated. That isn't her picture up at the top. That is her best friend, Karlee, the only one I took a picture of with my digi. I used the old tried and true 35 MM camera for the rest of my shots but when I went to Albertson's yesterday to get the roll developed and printed on the 30 minute machine, what to my wandering eyes did appear, but a sign saying the machine is down. So we wait for the pics.

Meanwhile we had the arrival during the week of my in-laws, sharing the same house for the first time in quite a few years ever since they were divorced. We had the gala decorating of the senior hall at the high school complete with the baby picture identification contest, the lockers covered with pictures of the kids from babyhood to seniordom, the ceiling festooned with lights and streamers. We had the barbecue in the yard with balloons and school color table cloths, two cookers, one with a salmon, the other with a london broil. Potato salad. Shrimp cocktails. And the arrival of a sunny warm day.

Then to the high school for the graduation. It was outside on the football field which is lined up east and west and the descending sun lit the bright gold robes the girls were wearing with a heavenly hue that matched the smiles on their faces. Cameras were clicking, the speeches were droning, the diplomas were handed out, the caps were thown in the air and everyone, parents and graduates and relatives and friends, milled on the football field till the sun dropped beneath some low clouds and we scurried to our cars. Congrats to the class of 2006, everywhere.

-- Capn Ken



It's the Woodstock Museum, wanting my stories about some kind of scene that went down near Bethel, New York in August, 1969, and somehow they found out I was there and got a guy in Seattle to set up the interview with some folks from Eugene doing the camera light and sound work, all of them coming to my place . . .

They've been asking, what's the name of that sock puppet, and I've been answering, it isn't a sock puppet, it's a glove with eyes and mouth and hair and his name is HeckTor. That bamboo and gourd sitar was made by a friend of mine and is a real twanger. Its name is el Bambino Gourdito.

MAY 22, 2006

Running at the max. High speeds, heavy loads. A poor war, admittedly, but the only war we've got. Huge accumulation of American money and gear. And out there, at lonely outposts, plenty of beer and ammunition, supplied by Whirleybird Air. A shitty job but somebody's got to do it.

Sound familiar? 1962 or 2006, same-oh same-oh, different places different faces.

-- Capn Skyp



Down with the toof miserables again. Virginia state police have arrested a dentist in Manassas who was operating without a license. The dentist, a Colombian immigrant, would frequent locations where there were many Zygone-speaking residents and slip business cards under the windshields of cars advertising his services.

This is the second maverick dental sting operation in as many months. Back in the District, the FBI and narcotics agents raided a house in Columbia Heights in June. Their target: Carlos Vargas. In that raid, authorties failed to capture the dentist, but got his wife. After two and a half hours in the dentist chair today I had the bedeviled rebellion tamed and came home to check the email.

Here's what someone wrote to me:

"How come so many people these days appear to look more and more like aliens...??"

Then I got this in the next email:

"Orlando Florida. It is pretty bad here for the
most part; too close to the bermuda triangle if you
ask me. Lots of sheeple milling about, darting from
problem to problem with their horse blinders on,
occasionally bumping into each other and screaming in
startled fury. The only jobs related to my art form
are either corporate internships (no-pay!) doing
absolutely nothing to better the world, or small
production companies that believe film students
deserve very low pay (this area is over saturated by
young film students, literally hundreds and hundreds
of the starving bastards, swarming around each other
like vampire gnats looking for some sort of job lead
to gnaw on). It makes my skin crawl . . . one
day, I packed my stuff, moved to Orlando, and went to
school. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

I'm here almost two years now, I have a degree that
means nothing to me, and the worst part, the most
painful and self conflicting mind boggling part is
that I work as a gas station assistant manager. I'm a
fucking corporate drug dealer. I sell the random
masses their addictions. I see all these faces
wrenched in agony, and they don't even realize how
much they're hurting inside. It drives me to tears on
an almost daily basis. I read between the lines in
the newspapers, and I'm watching this massive glob of
negative energy permeate the globe.

I stand behind a counter, selling high fructose corn syrup
to kids that can't concentrate (ADHD, anyone?) 'cause they're fried
on super sugars and caffeine, cigarettes to wheezing
lungers who keep say'n they gotta quit but for some
reason don't, potato chips and wonka bars to the
almost morbidly obese, and gasoline, ohhh love that
gasoline, to single people who drive over sized multi
passenger SUVs (four wheel drive in the city?), and
I'm supposed to be cool with everything and say,
'Thank you, and have a nice day!'"

-- Josh

And that is the answer, be cool with everyone but I'm kinda tired of the automated phrase, "Have a nice day," although I still answer, "You too."

-- Capn Skyp

MONDAY, MAY 1, 2006

Kiss your april behind. May day may day may day, say it three times if you need help winding the ribbon around the may pole as you do your Beltrane bliss. Spring is sprunging faster than ever, the plum blossoms are gone, the cherry blossoms on the wane, the apple blossoms in full bloom, the lilacs are dooryard bloomed, the rhodie is in full glory, and all the little flowers are awake and greeting the sun. Let us not talk about the grass growing so fast. Let us mow and mow till we can't mow no mo and then let us mow some mo. But let us not be frenetic nor frantic. Let us mow a mere half hour and no mo, for the noise, the pollution, the neighbors are aghast, except when they too are mowing, tis a frenzy to be sure.

What wonders our open eyes do perceive and rightly so, too, for the cleansing of the eyeballs allows us to peer into previously hidden places, whatever that means.

-- capn skyp

Monsieur Capi-tan,

Hello there, and hello there. Consider me an adolescent, stricken by the stars to this time and period of existance [no complaints, of course, we make of it what can be made]. I've admired what little knowledge I've been able to obtain, through second-hands handed down tales, and brief memoirs recollecting the time, all about the Merry Pranksters and all. Naturally, I've little to no doubt this letter is a letter you've read many many a time, and I sincerely hope it is not taken in any less sincere a standing, what with it's repetitivity.

So, in light, I'd like to request a story, if I may. Now, this may seem bold, or demanding, or downright rude of me.. but I mean it in no such way. If you should take it, I'm on no time budget.. I've forever to wait for folktales of foreign lives, and not-so long ago living. I've little expectations for your tale to live up to... Really, I've only the request itself.

Now, I should like to hear from you in return, whether it be in denying my request, or just a responding hello-- as friends are welcome from all walks of life, and all corners of the world.

Farewall, lad.


How's this, Lad?

We were in San Francisco in the bus doing some kind of gig and had parked the bus on the street and Kesey and I set out in search of some patch cords we needed for the sound system.

We were walking along and Kesey slumped against me. I propped him up and he said, "I need bread and a bed."

Oh oh, he did it again. Got up and headed out without eating anything and now his blood sugar has dropped to zilch.

I got him into a restaurant and looked for a place to sit but he was heading into a back room that was all set up for a meal. He sat down and helped himself to a hunk of chicken while the seats filled up with people off a tour bus outside.

Soon he was eating and chatting with the ladies and, seeing an electronics store across the street, I left him there and got the patch cords and came back and got him and we returned to the bus for a nap before the gig.

-- Capn Skyp

bycycle pic by Darrin Brenner-Rolat

Bicycle day when everyone gets on their bikes and rides
all over the place. so pump up your tires, adjust the seat height and the
handlebars. stick a playing card in the spokes so it goes flippity flippity
when you ride, don't forget your helmet and flashing l.e.d. tail light, say,
do you have one of those neato little round mirrors that attaches to your
head so you can see the car coming trying to run you off the road and gives you a chance to drop your bag of carpet tacks in front of him? Ha ha, we
love to joke as we ride but just in talk talk, what we really do is shoot a
roman candle in the air to let everyone know we can see them and are doing our best to stay out of their way.



APRIL, 2006

I guess you all know I'm on myspace now, have been for a while, making friends all over the place, putting some mp3 sound files on my site.


There's two myspacers now, one called The Merry Pranksters, the other called, Intrepid Trips, both takeoffs of the real thing. Here's something I posted today:

I tole you if you want to take on the merry prankster name you have a big responsibility, one of which is to learn and know what it means to be a merry prankster. this is not it:

Dose everyone over the age of 15 for their own good! Hold down G.W. Bush and force feed him 100000 hits of pure Owsley acid and make him watch atrocity videos from Iraq. Etc. etc........

Pranksters are not about acid and pot, although those are part of the picture. You push the use of the drugs and you lose lots of interested people who are more interested in spiritual development and the search for enlightenment and the seeking of expanded consciousness than just using drugs and, following that, the actions of helping one another out and being kind to others, no matter what their ilk. and most importantly, not adding to the polarization and arguing going on all over the place.

-- capn skyp