Hey groovy people… I’ll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours.
If you want, we can take a magic carpet ride together, free of groady brown acid that burns our minds out and keeps us brothers down. We’ll go natural and naked on a path far out to a place so cherry. When you see beyond yourself, then you may find, peace of mind is waiting there. It’s outta sight! Trust!
Because it’s within our flower power to fish free man. Hang loose. Make love not war with the fishy flowing streams and nakedness of our souls. We’ll take this internet Circus Wagon, it’ll be a gas. Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where before there were only walls. Go all the way with it… because our minds are like parachutes, they don’t work unless they are open.
Cool!?!? Let’s go!
So meanwhile back at the ranch…
It has been a righteous few weeks for trippin’ out on gnarly, grease lakers. These fish were either on the bus, or off the bus man. But the best weather days had a purple haze; all in my brain maybe, but lately the lakers didn’t seem the same. They actin’ funny but I didn’t know why… ‘scuse me while I fish the sky.
To cool for school? History lesson anyway… 2012 winter reel peeling on the suicide knob, a righteous sweat hog scarfed down, flipped the bird and ripped off with my souped up cool. The fish was wiggin’ out and tooling all over the place, I had to drive it in the woody wagon to the topside. Surf’s up doods!
If you can’t remember my PB’s… you weren’t there man!
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Think I’d be copasetic after that??? Nopers. Way beyond stoned sano now…
I began scheming and learned, if you take the game of life seriously, if you take your nervous system seriously, if you take your sense organs seriously, if you take the energy process seriously, you must turn on, tune in, and drop lures through the ice for lake trout…
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Time warpin’ into 2013, I have been twitchin’ for nifty sex pots. Big lakers… a cosmic love full of ’em. A real gone cat, there was no way Hodad’s rule was gonna keep me from fulfilling my destiny of making sweet love to the fish… or your old lady for that matter. Because hey Daddy-O, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Peace!
I fish armed with love not guns, because love is all you need. Sometime between Jupiters solar equinox and the full snow moon I was pimpin’ a fox. No fink man, the lusty lure was high in the aquasphere when on my peepers dial, a red bar hauled some ass for the pink slip. I was like……… WHOA HO!!!… lure be bookin’ it for Lucy in the sky. But, soon as I pulled the giddy up 409 on ‘er, my jelly roll style got me jacked up. Totally bogarted, the grease applied some major badass on me. It sure wasn’t rad a tad, but before too long I put the kibosh on lakey laker’s plans, laid some scratch of my own, and guess what went down???
Not me SUCKAH!!! Laker got itself Chilli-whacked.
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But it ain’t right to fight. You must be the change you wish to see in the world. Practice “CPR” man… “C”atch the wave, “P”icture box it, and start a “R”evolution man. Give back to the land, ya dig, and set your soul free. Those old lakers don’t die, they just lie low until the fishing stops, and their time comes round again.
I swear to Buddha that if I am free, it’s because I’m always running. The fish beat goes on and on. Like this one time, when I dropped six dozen hits of acid in Ottawa and came-to 4 1/2 years later, pant-less in a ditch, with a parakeet, somewhere in Saskatchewan… There had to be more fish to trip out like that on. Had to be!!!
Sometime while Mercury was eclipsing with Saturn, I gave my wife the big winnie. Really, she’s thicker than a $5 malt, it wasn’t so tricky to escape her establishment over my life. Nobody living can ever stop me, as I go walking my freedom highway. Nobody living can make me turn back, cause this land was made for you and me. So anyways, truckin’ with three on the tree and avoiding the man, I burned rubber to a secret stash house loaded with shallow-minded, gator bathers.
Deploying the deadmeat skuzz with hopes of attracting me some skag, a tipdown bell service was in order. This Passion Pit was supposed to be hopping with slimey, knocked up paper shakers at some time in the day.
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But afterawhile, it appeared the chicks wanted less skuzz, cause they were really shining me man. The whole gator scene so far was a drag, and only kissee perch were around peepin’ for creeps.
I fashioned a little duck-butt and went jiggin’ into the heavy jeet-muck. Perch were fixin’ to party on any little kicks, so we got our freak on awhile. Drifting off into far out, a red bar beamed me back in. It was freakin’ deep stuff a minute… ya know, like when you’re eyes meet a girl’s chest.
KA-BLAMMO Batman!!! Totally T-bucketed this stacked sosh on my power set. Smokin’!!! She was super twice piped with plenty taco wagon but, she shot off on me like a Thunderbird. I’m thinking, what’s her bag? Just shake it don’t break it baby! I thought we was tight but she’s like all the fright. Right??? Bad trip!
“If you want to be free, be free,” I called out to her, because there’s a million things to be. “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams, live the life you’ve always imagined baby.” “This war is over if you want it to be, but first just give me a piece of your chance.” With mojo like that, there was no way I couldn’t score.
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After swappin’ spit and sharing some grass she said, “peace out.” My heart hurt a second, like a blue flamer gone wrong, it burned a hole. That was until whitey blew the doors off at 12, totally unexpected, but neato!!!
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If there’s one thing about little tighty whiteys, they’re always good to look at. Problem is, moody ya never know if they’re gonna be all show and no go, or if you’re in for a Chinese fire drill. Just gotta roll with it.
The first had beat feet and went ape once I tried to cop a feel. Nothing I could do, whiteys are buggin’ sometimes, but at least she had interest for a minute.
That said, next whitey squeezed in on me in a quick jive five and whispered, “I got dibs,” in my ear. She was all about ballin’ and got my engine just roaring. Coo Coo Ka Chooo look at you, let’s get our Barry Whitefish on up in here.
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What was really going on? This was too far out man! I’d never had this kinda fresh with the whiteys, except when I’d pay for the French one’s. My whitey loving spread like Cheeze-wizz around the stash house, and before I knew it “Dibs” invited her friend “Cutie” over to play. Can you say, mo-nadge-a-trot!!! Heavy hanky-panky fun man… like this one time on my buddies sheep farm when we ate three pounds of peyote and tended to the livestock. What happens in the barn, stays in the barn though…
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I got so blitzed at the stash house. Turned out “Cutie” was actually named “Cooties,” and when I woke with the munchies I think something was actually munchin’ on me. Things must have got hairy, but like a true nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild. I had to find my whitey friends and give a peace out, so I looked deeper within my subconscious self man… because the only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.
On a trip deeper into the bowels of the stash house, by happenstance I came upon a different brood of fish, a raunchy spaz too. Thought for awhile it might be Big Esox Louis, cause the fish seemed just too cranked up on crank.
Couldn’t burn rubber on this one cause everytime I tried this lead sled would lay a patch on me. Seriously short of Scoobie snacks for this fish too, there just wasn’t enough Doobie-do in the stick to really horse this kinda Mustang down. What we had here was a failure to communicate. A real Mexican standoff. It was like hooking into a yellow submarine man… Heavy mustard and real bitchin!
Two riders on the storm with some total Kato Kung-Fu roadhouse blues, one of us had to break on through to find the end. And just then, bubbles came up through the hole and it totally lit my fire. Pedal to the metal on the fish, it nosed into the hole. Hello, I love you, wont you tell me your name?
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Greasy laker didn’t feel the same, “Party is OVER! Hit the road Jack!” Bummer! All I was gonna do is just go on and do what I feel, ya know… maybe go steady awhile.
There was a band playing in my head, and I felt like getting high on lakers again. On the make, I threw on some fresh rags and shagged a$$ outta the pad. Rubber in all four, arriving at destination honey choice laker came fab quick.
Transcendental vibes radiated off the ice, and my zen was feeling like somewhere between six to eight hasish bong hits. Some groovy was going on in the cosmos and I needed to tap that for goodness sake. Droppin’ a lure, I giver’d the hippy, hippy shake.
On my peepers dial, a gut waddin’ jazzed red bar appears and goes all the way. “Lay it on me,” I scream on hookset. A real gone chich she pins me a minute before giving the jump bad. I was like… puleeze! Couple biffs and wet willies, followed by a wedgie and Charlie horse, this laker was beggin’ Kings X in a jumpin Jack flash. Although it sounds like war, for us both it was just kinda kinky rough love.
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Day dragged on, but with some gnarly squalls and close calls with the lakers it kept flowing. Thought about bookin’ it home, but at the time “the New York State Freeway’s closed, man. Far out,” I had to wait awhile longer.
Spaced out while dreaming a little dream of me in the future, my peepers dial suddenly flashed a little flicker of hope, deep down in the heavy, then vanished into thin air.
KA-BLOOOEY!!! Outta sight I suddenly got Melvin’d. This one wasn’t hep.
No chrome domer, I pulled a brody then flipped my wig man. There was no way I was riding shotgun on this train to Hell, I wanted the wheel. I’m superbitchin’ and there’s no greaser that’s gonna take the super, or the bitchin’, outta my superbitchin’.
Duct taped boot, man. Dynamo hooksets. Reel peelin’ and trippy colors… we got the whole thing on film and projected it to Lube Tube. It’s all the rage so seriously check it out!!!
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When the laker came topside there was this sudden magic, man. Like this one time camping up at Ragged Chutes, when 26 of 27 campers took shrooms, but the only one that didn’t, was the only one that got real high. Like how do you explain that man?
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Anyways, the magic this time was same but different. Me and the laker gazed into each other’s eyes and were like one. A Ying and Yang, man. And there was this sudden mothership of cosmic love energy that blew the doors off all my realities with these kinda groovy, greasy greys, and I realized we can be friends. Cherry goodness was happening all around…
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That laker taught me something you know. That there can’t be any large-scale revelation until there’s a personal revelation, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first… and for me it was. Because from the thought, to the plot, to the caught, it’s symbiotic and beautiful man! Can you dig that? Can you see it? It’s fishing, in pure form but technicolor at the same time, within an all encompassing globe of truth and love. Catch my drift? It’s fish harmony, or fish Nirvana if you will, and once you’re riding this radical wave, you’re fishing will set you free too man! You’ll be free, surfing right there on fish love energy across the universe. It’s a gnarly buzz. But remember as well… The most important kind of freedom is actually to be who and what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role and you give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. Instead, embrace your inner being. Be you. Expose yourself to your deepest fears, because after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. It is then you are free, man. Free to be you, free to love, free to play, free of war and free of hate… and free to be groovy with the fishes.
Peace!
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Bunk
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