On Friday morning the 29th of September 1966 I stepped back into the world of houses, clear dawn sky, clouds and thought forms. At four o'clock the wind blows through the shadows around corners mingling with the lites of Haight Street. This morning three officers of the San Francisco California police force turned left of Haight and trapped me in their curfew snare. Searching my body with strange hands that visited my most secret genitals exploring and exploding me with an uncontrollable fanaticism. They were searching for those pills, however none were there on this morning of fierce winds. The officers pushed me roughly into the rear of the car. The third officer seated next to me, he was already in the car began carrying on about how much he hated me. The other two officers, one driving the other searching that world for other beings drove quite directly to the precinct station. The left rear doors were wide open and I stepped into the midst of a fantastic affair of jailers in the Golden Gate Park District Station. The officers seated me on an ancient wooden bench of hard wooden slats brightly painted dark brown surrounded by bulletin boards.
The linoleum floor was highly polished, as was the booking window and the elite officers who seemed rigorously trained and at attention with highly polished brass and guns with lead bullets and brass cartridges strode the lengths of eternity with me. They were balanced, poised in super-triumph austere in their battle dress and spewing hate rejections words of "fuck you, you cocksucker, we hate your hair, your clothes, your eyes, your mouth." "Here!" They yelled, calling me across the maroon floor toward where they were standing. I had the yellow paper from the Diggers and the other hand-out sheet telling of police brutality. These papers were grabbed and I then was forced into a circle of despair. Why were they hurting my clear thought processes with their elemental tragedy of swear words.
When they closed the circle the largest officer threw with all his might two closed clench fist blows to the right side of my head. Spirals burst I was pained to everything, why were they hitting me? He then wrenched my head back trying to pull out my yellow hair. Then they pushed my head through the booking window and slammed a rabbit punch to break the vertebrates in my neck. My yoga discipline worked automatically the muscles went lax but then tensed hard at the hurting blows, repelling damage to my lower cranium vertebrate area. Then my prayer beads were taken from my coat pockets along with a small roach. My mind was roaring with uncontrolled sympathy for their misdirection, their ridicule was all that their minds were.
It was fuzzy with hate and wrath, their faces were covered with blue purple hats, their ignorance was black in shame, for I understood, then that education had failed a discipline worthless, a false mirage, a mirror hidden from them in reality. False uniforms of dark pressed purple blue. Where were their minds? One man aimed at my genitals I turned and caught the blow on my right buttock near the coxis. My right shoulder hurt terribly. I was confronted, where to next. I was again confronted with a certain joy in this too-near world of body turned masochist, turned sensual, turned to love of self to quickly cure the inner mind tragedy. It said--escape leave me remember as a football player how the body accepted the crushing contact. Leave me mind. I'm fragile strong and resilient only fire will destroy me leave by the hair.
The spirit leaf flew from the tree and I became an animal raw creature from the mountains, the forest. Their hidden eyes were red blood their hate flowed forth, creeping Gestapo hate, and I returned with white thunder surrounding me. The back door to the right opened, he was sitting there waiting, waiting, smoking white cigarettes, a plain brown solid oak desk. He was sitting in a swivel chair gently rocking. Hurt inside I was pushed inside the room where he rabbit punched me in the back of the neck straight from where, I searched in the mirror of my inner movie of T.V. movies for that dream of thuggery. Since when do they have the right to destroy doves? Silence, my screams burst through their long colonnade of wars, of wars of bloody dreams so material and hurt filled. I pardoned them in their berserk pleasure of brutality, I cried for a reprieve from their storm and then they all started floating with me, we were/I was no more, I left as the brain burst forth with Winston, trees, sounds of motorcycles, the real bombers, and pure blue acid tests. Oh where. And then into the underground fear of iron bars. There were other people there--wax people holy forms neither here nor there. There is no more a mummy in a glass case.
