Letter to a Long-gone Friend

A series of bizarre events
recently led to my digging out and
re-reading old letters (circa 1966-72)
from an old friend and former
journalism colleague who left this realm
a few years back. It made me wish
he were still around, and that we
could exchange thoughts as we
did way back when. It inspired, if
that is the right word, the
following, the kind of thing we used
to send in our correspondence:


Hey y'all! Merle Saunders dies at 74
old Garcia play-mate
Wasn't that a time!

I long for a simpler time
when we exchanged actual long
snail-mail letters, not
just two-graf e-mails
but now of course we're caught in
The Web ...

The cats bathe thoroughly
after their breakfasts
of beef bits in gravy
(so much of what we do
depends on killing
innocent animals ...
I recall the time
I looked closely at a
rare roast beef while
high on LSD and vowed
to become a vegetarian ...
this and other vows now vanished
dreams wafting over fallow fields
like wisps of smoke
to paraphrase stolen words
poorly remembered
from a haiku poet
on his death bed ...)

Let's kill more turkeys
and give thanks
for maximum violence

"Aw, them birds
don't know nothin'
they're just a
buncha turkeys ..."

Let's stay as ignorant
as possible of all the
processes of Modern Life
and pretend everything
I mean EVERYTHING
THE ENTIRE COSMOS
is run on credit
with no bill due
till the cows
come home to roost

Bumper Strip:
Bring Back the Family Farm

Hell, for that matter,
bring back the farm family
I mean the ideal
all for one, one for all
hardworking honest and
greatly rewarded by their
own virtues

Was the entire 20th century
a gigantic mistake?
Not according to those
who rule and prosper.
Some folks, of course,
have a different slant.
The Bad News:
All the have-nots
wannabe just like us!

No matter any more, eh, Richard?
What's it "like"
where you are now? Is
it another plane of existence
like Seth of Seth Speaks
or more like endless
unimaginable nada?

Send me your message
in a bottle
preferably along with
some good chianti
or shiraz
and a good music soundtrack
of your selections

OK, then. Good-bye,
good-bye. We'll meet
again, someday,
some way ...

Or then again,
maybe not.

--Bob Loomis, Concord CA, 2008

BLINDED BY THE LIGHT

We learn to use these words to try to clothe and parade our thoughts, to express that which is basically inexpressible. Some attempt must be made. Yet no matter how hard we try, we can only touch aspects of the essence, not embrace it completely. Finally, our words are like blind men touching parts of an elephant and coming up with definitions of what it is. Truncated views of existence, if you will. Or, again, views constantly expanded by the numbers of those observing. Rashomon, indeed!