This message was self-deleted by its author

[Martin68]

1. Sounds like the fever dreams my roommates and I, in college, used to share

during an extended weekend rendezvous with Mr. Herb and Ms. Blossom back in 1972. Maybe a little LSD to knock out any rut we might have gotten stuck in during the regular course of human events. Everything comes pouring out: the emotions, the feelings, the anger, racism, the mysogenism, the insecurity, the guilt, the anxiety, the dreams, the hopes. I remember writing stories that read very similar to this, but in terms of the events that were taking place in my own life. I was with the Peace Corps in Liberia, so that was an interesting counterpoint to the educated entitled White American point of view we all had. I wrote a pieces much like this about a trip I took through West Africa to visit PC friends over dirt roads, through the red dust from land exhausted by overuse of the slash and burn agricultural methods, to a village where the 2 local PC volunteers had taken their own trip someplace else in West Africa and offered their house for use by any other volunteer passing through. But that was a journal of very subjective and stylistic ideas, not a political piece. I confess, I have no idea what Mr. Potato Head was trying to say, but I wish him well. Keep the Faith, Baby!